I'm Busy Getting Stronger

I love the Sarah Evans song, and have, from the moment I heard it. Knowing a bit about her life, I understand what the lyrics are intended to portray, but I look at it differently, hear it in a way it probably was not designed to be heard, and I think of so many...myself, my husband, our daughter, Allison's family, friends, my sister in her loss of her husband Michael, many mothers and fathers who have been left to maneuver grief, a widening circle of loved ones who are grieving parents, siblings, other friends and neighbors. Yes, the circles are growing, and whether they know it or not, they, too, are busy getting stronger. Being our own best, or worst, critic, we tend to NOT see what others see, how can we? Our souls are screaming, our arms are empty, our house is quiet, the phone rarely rings, and when it does, it is not her, or him. In our case, it is not Allison. The cruel reality is that it will never, ever be again. There are many cruel realities, most too hard to bear. Sometimes, I just don't want to bear them at all. I have to literally shake my head until it rattles to dismiss the doom and gloom that this grief can bring to me, if I allow it, if I embrace it, if I let it consume me. It surely will, all the days of my life, if only I allow it. I work to do just the opposite, for what good will it do me, my heart, my soul, my emotional and physical state, what good at all? So, from the start, even though it didn't seem like it, I have been busy getting stronger.

Stronger may mean different things on different days! And if truth be known, I don't really want to work at it at all! I would like to take the low road, and just NOT show up for life, at times. Other times, I want to embrace all of it as quickly as I can because I now understand, at a deeper level, just how short this lifetime really is...never did I know that so many conflicting emotions could surface at the same time. It is no wonder that grieving is hard, dedicated, tumultuous work. But, in spite of myself, I am busy getting stronger. How do I know this? What is the measure of strength? How can I feel so strong, yet so weak?

I know I am busy getting stronger because of what I can not only DO, but FEEL, and SEE, and TASTE, and SEE, and even SMELL. My senses have come alive, because I have allowed them to do so. The numbness is wearing off, not gone by any stretch of the imagination, but shedding layers, if you will. I am working at it. It would not be doing so, if not for the work put into it. The readings, the prayers, the devotions, the healing modalities, the rest, the shifting of priorities, the shift in my life. All changed. Never to be returned to again. All because of one phone call, which led to one diagnosis, which led to treatments and protocols, which led to eleven weeks of time together, which led to a chance to say good-bye, which led to death, and in death, led to life. I cannot explain it. I don't need to explain it. I know what I know, and that is I am busy getting stronger.

I see beauty in the simple forms. I have slowed down to capture moments that will stay with me forever. I help make a memory. I even ran into the ocean this summer with my clothes on, thank you Allison, thank you Michael, thank you God for removing the inhibitions for that one moment in time. I attended two weddings this summer, and danced at both, just a little, but I danced. I listen to music and hear the lyrics, now, and sing, with my out of tune voice. I affirm that I have a purpose and trust that God will lay out His plan for me. I am busy getting stronger without even realizing it.

I am taking care of physical needs. Yes, I am often numb, and don't want to, but in spite of myself, I am busy getting stronger. I find my way through housecleaning chores, projects, trips to my sister's house, some vacations, have been to two movies, and have lunches with friends. If there is a measure of getting stronger, I am making my mark. Yes, I do so with tears in my heart, and a soul that is crying out for my deceased child, but I am living, some, and that is pleasing to her. I hear her whispers and feel her love, and know she is proud. That, and the life of those I love, myself, my daughter, husband, siblings, family, gives me the strength to carry on, to live as best I can for that moment, and to stay busy, getting stronger.

I Can't Recall

I'm sorry...I can't recall...I don't remember. I wish I could. I wish I had been able to be present in the moments, to remember, to be aware. But so much of it, I just can't recall.

Since losing my daughter, well, not losing, I have come to disregard that term, in some ways. I didn't lose her. I know exactly where she is, and that is not here. She is not lost. Really, if truth is known, she is found. But not too many people can understand that concept. So, I don't elaborate. I just use the term, interchangeably, for "passed away", "died", "lost her life to a dreaded disease", whatever it is that I am desperately trying to say. But for this purpose, "losing" will do...since "losing" my daughter, well, I can't recall much. Oh sure, there are some snippets of memory. I can see some things so clearly, and others are such a fog. And that all began with the diagnosis. I was doing everything I could to digest it, interpret it, reflect upon it, keep the daily journal, write Allison a daily letter, face it, move through the day by day change of protocols as that lung cancer spread faster than anything I had ever witnessed. In the process, of course, there are memories, snippets, moments when I was surely lucid enough to notice, physically strong enough to acknowledge, or emotionally stable enough to appreciate and thank those who provided offerings during that time, and after Allison passed. But so much of it has had to be told to me. I remember looking at the guest book from the visitation to see who had attended, no, I was not drugged, but numb, or in shock, or sad, yes. I read each name over and over again, knowing that I had seen people who had not signed their name, and knowing that some signed their name and I don't remember seeing them. I can't recall certain things.

I can't recall who brought what over, flowers, food, books, gifts. I tried to keep it straight, write it down, my sister did her best, but the love poured in and I couldn't keep up. In the eleven weeks of Allison's life with cancer, she, Jennifer, Joe and myself, and daily treatments or doctor's appointments was my focus. Then she was gone, and while the offerings still poured in, I can't recall who did what, what I ate, what I did, how I lived. It doesn't really matter anymore, really. But for so long, when I had casserole dishes and gifts that I did not know where they came from, I felt those twinges of guilt that recipients never received cards or notes of thanks. People asked me about their dishes, their items, the things they loaned me for months and years to come. I just couldn't recall what they knew to be true. I will never, ever, again, expect a grieving person to know or remember what I brought, I will pray it will be a love offering with no strings attached, no acknowledgement needed, that it was an angel gift from the heart.

There are so many other things I can't recall: How did I get to this point, coming up on the fifth year of her diagnosis? How did I manage to attend functions when my heart was literally breaking and I was sick from the emotional toll? How did I fill my days once I retired, or even more out of my mind's reach, in those first weeks and months when she was gone? How did I manage to even return to work and go through the day by day events for several months? Who did I see? What did I do to fill my time? Well, of course, some of it is with me, and most of it is not. And again, it doesn't matter. What matters is where I am now, and a sweet hallelujah that I am beginning to remember Allison as a baby, a toddler, a little girl, a pre-teen, a young woman. For so long, I couldn't recall those times outside of eleven weeks of cancer, and I would be brought to my knees, wondering if I ever would, praying that it would come back to me. That her spirit would fill my soul and I would remember. Through a lot of prayer and soul searching, I can recall a little more, more and more, day by day, and I am thankful.

I have given gifts that I can't even recall. Recently, when giving a gift to someone, I could tell I had already given that to her. Hmmm....so, I asked, and sure enough, the same gift, monogrammed and everything. I'm sure this is not the first time it's happened! But, I can't recall. I can't recall what I do, what the spirit leads me to do, what I have given, what I have received. It's not a desirable place to be...but it is what it is.

For those things I can't recall, I have to let them go. I have to forgive myself for not acknowledging or thanking those who have called to see if I got the flowers, or the meal, or the gift they left on the porch some years ago. I'm sure I did get them. And I'm sure it made the difference needed at that time. But, being so numb for so long, and damaged and heart broken, there is much I can't recall. I am learning to say that it is "okay", affirm it, and go on. I can't do anything about it now. I will recall what I can, and let the rest go, and be thankful for what I now CAN recall.

Re-Enter Life

For me, the death and loss of my child, my Allison, stopped ME dead in my tracks. I'm sure many people can relate to that. Many can relate to the fact that often times, if not for those we love the most who are still living, we, the mourning, do not really want to keep going. The newness is paralyzing, all consuming, physical, emotional, spiritual, and downright devastating. It is something to sort through, and it defines us in ways we could never have imagined. It is where we now start from. Loss. Grief. Pain. The point at which all we knew turned on its axis and a new start began.

The beginning, which starts with the loss, caused me to immediately look within. And what I saw, I don't think I really liked, let alone, embraced. I had to re-enter life, right then and there, because for all I had imagined and thought, life did not STOP because Allison Haake left me, us, this earth. In fact, with hindsight being 20/20 as they say, it had only just begun. It began, and continues, in looking deep within, and understanding that this journey is not only about her, in fact, HER journey was HERS, MINE is MINE. They correlate, of course. This was my child, brought through my womb to exist, to be, to live, to dream. So, naturally, they are entwined, meshed, woven together. I am her mother. Her mother. And I had to learn, I am, still. That hasn't changed. I am, always have been, always will be, her mother. But that took on new shades of life, new images, and a new relationship. And all the while, I couldn't just sit in a chair and focus on how this was going to evolve. I had to trust that it would, that it will, and to this day, I am really thankful I have THIS DAY to sort it out.

I do not know at what point I really began to re-enter life. I am sure it was right from the start. It just didn't feel like it, the numbness took what seemed forever to fade. It is still there. The pain washes over me like one of those extreme flushes of heat, my own reality and mind reminds me of what is mine to face, and I learn to cope and carry this pain through the conversations with friends, the social engagements, the movies, the trips, the travels to new places, the housecleaning, the family gatherings. Sometimes I nod my head and try to be engaged, really. I love my friends, and my family. Sometimes I seem interested in a show that Joe and I watch together, but my mind isn't there. It's way back there, a 5 year old birthday party, a teenager's dance, a shopping trip, moments in bed reading what seemed to be endless nursery rhymes. Or my mind is asking God to help me breathe and get through the next minute, that there can be real substance to my life, that the superficial aspects are abandoned for meaningful and spiritual depthness.

I offer up gratitude for the simplest of things....there has not been a day that I haven't asked God to help me know what I am supposed to know from this, re-enter life the way it is intended, to accept it, to know that there is a plan much richer than mine, to find my purpose, to be productive, even though it may not seem productive to ME, to find my way through this life, knowing that tomorrow, this afternoon, this evening isn't even promised. To love, to live, to laugh, when I can, and to visit the places I need to, physically or emotionally, spiritually or mentally, but to only linger in those that are good for me.

Each stage of re-entering life is new for me. I suppose it will always be, but to know that I AM capable of it, well, I can only imagine how pleased that makes Allison. When she passed from this temporary life to the one of eternity, I'm quite sure she didn't intend for her mother, her father, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and friends to stop living. No doubt, she wants us to re-enter life, our way, in God's timing, in the way that brings all good things to our souls. When it doesn't seem "right" or "fitting" or even doable, all I need to do is look at that smile, those eyes, feel that spirit of hers, spend time with my living daughter, share a laugh with my husband, or a deep conversation with my sister, take a trip such as this summer that resulted in changed lives, make a meal for a friend, bake a cake, put a scrapbook together, hold a baby, share a glass of wine with my nephews, go to a movie with a friend, just spend the gift of time with those I enjoy, read, write, walk Rex, look at the sunrise or sunset, savor a rainy Saturday morning...whatever, whenever, I know that this is my way of re-entering life. And I am thankful enough to seize the day.

The Blueprint

Letting go of MY blueprint, my plans, my thoughts of how life was supposed to be has been, IS, a process. It doesn't come easily, without pain, without kicking and screaming, sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively. I thought I had it all figured out, after all, I followed somewhat of the pattern of expectations, did I not...I went to college, married, became a teacher, raised children, went to church as a family, attended all of the girls' activities or events, was the scout leader, the Sunday School teacher, on and on it went. And on and on, so it goes.

Only, life is really about MY blueprint. In the devastation of losses, that now begin to accumulate, I can sit in disbelief, I can shake my head, I can wonder, how in the world did I get here, of all places, to the here and now? I can also find myself slipping into a state of mind that perhaps allows me to feel completely and utterly alone. When those moments come, I DO allow them, I DO visit them, as one of my wise and wonderful therapists encouraged me to do, but I DON'T allow myself to STAY there, or at least not too long. I visit, I ask God to get me to the next minute, to help me remember to breathe, and I ask for gratitude in the situation or moment. It doesn't come easily, and it doesn't come willingly. I must open my heart to accept all that is mine to accept. And acceptance comes, it wavers, it makes detours, it vacillates, but it comes...acceptance that the blueprint of my life is not as I had planned, but is here for me to handle, respond to, embrace as I must.

I know the God within me is what has empowered me to pick myself up again. There is no other explanation. Joe goes to work each and every morning, Jennifer is building her own life, my family and friends have their own lives to attend to, so who is it that gets Kathy up, and going and moving and living. It surely is not by my own design, I have learned that much, it is only by the grace of God that I am this far, living out the new blueprint, the one created just for me. I surely didn't design it, nor did I ask for it, but now, instead of being handed one, I am a student of life, maneuvering through the blueprint that has been created, and I pray to release the one I HAD planned, and embrace the one that is mine to own.

We can all hear stories and know of situations that could be considered far worse than our own, and we can certainly look at others and find ourselves almost envying the goodness in their lives. Life is perplexing, situations are confusing, and even as I sit here, close to five years ago when Allison was diagnosed with cancer, only to leave us a few short eleven weeks later, I still feel a sort of shock ripple through me, when I feel her presence, when I look into her pictures, when I travel the same roads we did to bring her home. I am awestruck! I am perplexed! I am in disbelief! And one thing I do know, time, in no way, represents a place where I should be...I am where I am. And I am okay with that. I may "look" good, "sound" good, "appear" good in all ways, but I am what I am. I have my own blueprint, now. I will manage it, I will follow it, or at least try, I will learn to live with the brokenness AND in spite of it. I will continue to seek God's wisdom, and put myself clearly in His path, and be open to receive. This is how I must follow my own blueprint, for this moment, this hour, this day.

Courting Grief

I read this term, "courting grief", on a page I receive from Second Firsts and how the then therapist counseled and advised others on grief, but later, lived it first hand through her own pain of a loved one dying. She didn't expand on it, but used the term that resonated with me..."courting grief", and all of a sudden, I had my own interpretation of what it meant.

Perhaps it's because of the many conversations my sister and I have had in the wake of her husband's passing, perhaps it's because of the many ones I have held with my own husband in the passing of our daughter, or the ones I have with nearly everyone I come into contact with these days. Loss is everywhere. It is in our own family, so tightly, so uniquely, so unimaginably, so unfairly, if you will, yet, what is FAIR? It's intense. It's a wave to ride. It's here to stay. It remains that constant companion that I have spoken of for nearly five years now. Grief. Courting Grief!

When do we stop COURTING grief, and taking it on as our partner. What are we supposed to do with it? What does it look like, feel like, sound like? How do we know when we are at the "right" place, or in the "timely" stage? How are we supposed to go on, live, pay bills, let alone breathe, laugh, sing or dance? When does the naive and numb pain of COURTING grief become our new found reality? When do we trade "going through the motions of life" for the life that is now ours to live? What is the purpose of grief? Are we supposed to wake up one day and "get it", become "healed", and let go? Questions. Questions without answers. Or should I say, questions with answers that are as unique as each one of us are, as unique as the relationship we had with the loved one, or as unique as the type of loss.

Does the courting stage of grief become "easier"? Would we, would I, go back to what my perception of that term means...those months and even years, after Allison passed on, when I sat numb, went through the "motions", tried to grasp the reality of her physical absence, making dinners that I didn't taste, filling the emptiness with cookies, or puddings, or a late afternoon glass of wine, only to find that the pit grew deeper and wider. Would I return to the blank look in my eyes, the inability to imagine taking photographs again, the quiet of my voice, the quiet of our home, of our very existence? Would I recall, even if I could, how I "got through" those motions, those first steps, when friends or loved ones put timeframes or perimeters on my grief, my pain, my loss, my ability, or inability to "move on"? Would there come a time when some of this would become natural and part of my very existence, when grief would accompany me in much the same way as the winter jacket for a cool night, or the right purse to match the colors of the day? Would it ever become "comfortable" and fitting, will it ever penetrate me completely, waking up my senses enough to know this is my new normal? Would I accept it?

Grief is work. I have spoken to others willing to listen, able to hear the deepness of my inner soul, and even written about it. It takes so much work just to maneuver. And "courting grief" is a phrase I can totally relate to...as I said, I have my own perception of its definition. I have danced with it, fought with it, cried through it, hated and despised it, begged God to understand it, acknowledged it, affirmed it, embraced it, tried to let it go, but all the while, finding it to be a process that is mine to behold. Mine is mine. My daughter's is hers. My sister's is hers. Yours is yours. Unique, yet, the same.

I don't think I am just "courting grief" any longer, I know I am in full fledged living through it. Like the days of "courting" our mates, dates, partners, it has flirted with me, brought me to places in my heart and soul I never knew I existed,physically taken me to new places, made me euphoric, only to let me down, it has kissed every part of me, and it has sustained me. And when the "courting" stage has ended, and the real work begins, or when I see others in the "courting" stage, and wish with everything I have within, to go back there, I know that I had my time. The courting, for me, is over. The real work has begun. I will embrace you, you unimaginable pain, you, this part of life we will all endure at some point, for loss is inevitable. "Courting grief" is in my past, but I still go back to that place, and revisit it, when I learned what it was, how it would impact my life, and I hold true to the fact that I am in this place, this very moment in time, for a reason only God can know. I will do my best. That is all He asks of me.

Summer Theme

This has been the summer for themes. I cannot help myself, I am a thematic person. It doesn't matter if I was hosting a birthday party for my girls or family members, decorating the girls' rooms, teaching a lesson to my students, hosting a staff meeting, giving gifts, or just hosting a family dinner, themes are part of who I am. I love them! I gravitate toward them, so it should have come as no surprise this summer, when my sister was planning a one year memorial celebration for her husband, Michael, that my mind went toward themed items to send, or bring, along. I never asked her what she was planning specifically, but lo and behold, we both had the same "theme" in mind, pink and green lanterns, white, pink and of course, green balloons, flamingo type decorations and plates, because, naturally, there was a story attached to them! So, pink and green it was...and a new theme came to light, No One Fights Alone. How appropriate to find these words on the choosehope.com website, so koozies were ordered, and on an on, we found our way to a pink and green summer.

Karen's picnic table had pinks and greens among the other colors, painted by a neighborhood, as she says. As friends and family gathered around, colors and designs emerged, words surfaced, providing love and inspiration. This table became the focal point of conversation. Prior to the memorial weekend, every store she went through, as did I back in St. Louis, held items of pink and green, green and pink, Allison and Michael, Michael and Allison. One with the other, as we have discovered, it should be...and what was really Michael's one year anniversary into heaven, became yet another honoring of this angel of ours that left us all too soon.

The honoring came on Allison Road. The story sweet and simple. And timely. Perhaps to be shared more in depth at another time, the gathering of loved ones, and scattering of ashes occurred on Allison Road. Matt spoke so beautifully of how Allison gave his father so much strength to persevere and fight. Joseph played the guitar with a quiet voice of "Blue Skies" on the bench as we filed by, one by one, with our own thoughts and memories. A family friend spoke so humorously and yet, seriously, of Michael and the year since he left us. All so beautiful, and all so much than one heart can almost hold. The details will come, but right now, our hearts are filled with pink and green, green and pink.

The koozies came to mind one day when I was perusing the Choose Hope website. The colors struck me at first, because lo and behold, that day, they were featured on the front in yes, pink and green. Then the words...NO ONE FIGHTS ALONE. Visions of "fighting" came to mind, fighting to live, to breathe, to walk, to talk, to attend, to BE, to sleep, to wake-up, to take the drugs, to endure the transplant, fighting to find faith and hope and love and GOD in all of this...our loved ones fought, but they didn't fight alone. We fought with them, each one of us, sister to sister, sons to father, wife to husband, mother to daughter, father to daughter, uncles and aunts to niece, and on and on. NO ONE FIGHTS ALONE. We hope, anyway. We know our loved ones didn't fight alone. We fought. We still fight. And we always will.

The summer theme will go on and on, I suspect. It will be pink and green for eternity. We will find our own way to bring the brightness of those beautiful colors to our existing world. We will remember the sunset we prayed so hard to receive, we will stand in awe at God's wonderment, knowing we received more than we ever hoped for...we asked for beauty and we got so much more. We received, in that indescribable sunset, the sweet assurance that all is well in their world, and we will hold onto that in ours. We will find the shades of pink and greens and we will know, we will just know, it's more than a theme. It is as they want us to be, happy in our pinks, and in our greens, in our sunrises and our sunsets. We will try. And we will not fight alone.

Sabbatical

We all need sabbaticals in life, from work, from daily living, from pressures and stress, but in loss, my sense is that they are needed even more. Sabbaticals come in many forms, and right away, after Allison passed away, and grief set in, I knew, that I must handle grief before it handled me. Never had I experienced anything of this intensity, from my inner core, to every part of my very existence, I only knew one thing, and that was, I was never to be the same again. I didn't know what it meant. All I could do, and still do, is to respond to where I am at that moment. Thus, the first sabbatical I took was from work. Questioned and even judged by many, it was what I knew had to be done. I asked God for guidance and I listened to the spirit within, and I took the many weeks needed to restore, reflect, regroup, rest, and prepare in the only way I knew how to go on living. That sabbatical served me well, on a personal level. It set the tone for what would become a lifetime of adjustments, a day by day existence without my child, a role that would not settle in, and if truth be known, still has not. The sabbatical did NOT set well with certain people, but as I have come to learn, it is much easier to believe what others SHOULD do, rather than try to understand what they choose to do.

This is not to say that I had not taken sabbaticals before. Certainly, we all do. In my case, they were often out of intense necessity, such as after my mother died and I struggled for three years, to the point where my health was failing. I took a short time away from the pressures of life, very short. Another time, when my father lived in our home, facing his own cancer battle, I took that time to tend to him, then to tend to ME, so that I could tend to my family. There was that oxygen mask theory again! But I took so little time. Guilt set in, all the people at work were holding the school together, I needed to be there. So, once again, the sabbatical was short lived, necessary to refuel and restore, but not enough to really gain anything from it. Even when I took the sabbaticals in forms of vacations or trips, BEFORE, I was always linked to the family issues, the job, the house, the bills, the pressures. Sabbaticals were short respites that served a purpose, but there was no way to really get away.

Now, I know so much more about them! And if I have anything to offer from this experience and earned wisdom, it is to encourage others to find their own way to REAL sabbaticals. To shut off the phones, the computers, the links to the stress of life. To lie down for 30 minutes with the inspirational music on and listen, really listen, and be present to the lyrics and instrumental melodies. To sit on the deck in the wee hours of the morning when all is quiet and God is near. To savor that sunrise or sunset, or to really listen to the laughter of their children, or just the children in the neighborhood. To listen to the sound of buses rolling in the morning and smile at the memories. To cling to a picture that brings beauty and joy and cry if you must, or have that moment of gratitude for the life that was lived. To simply BE. To savor quiet. To embrace the noise. To cuddle with the dog. To hold a baby. To pray with someone. To pray and give thanks. THESE are my sabbaticals now. I wish for my daughter, Jen, and my nephews, and the young men and women raising children that the merry go round of life, and the activities, and the pressure of the world we live in, could stop, that they would make it stop, for a short time, and take their own sabbatical. That in doing so, they won't have to wait until they cannot make it another step to seek help, that they won't have to become ill and continually torn before they slow down, that they won't find that emotional pain takes over and consumes them before they stop to take a bubble bath, or read a book of prayer, or of inspiration.

I suppose we have to learn about balance and life in our own time, that it comes to us when we are most ready and when God's nudge tells us to put ourselves first, and in doing so, we can be most helpful to others. We have the right to say NO, I'm stepping back, I'm closing the doors of life, and doing what is best for me. We have the privilege of communicating to others that this is not a good time for me, or that event is not healthy for me right now, or that I must take care of myself and my loved ones before I take you up on that opportunity. We must have the courage and the wherewithal to take our own sabbatical. Sure, work must be done. We have jobs to go to, bills to pay, and for someone retired it might be easy to say and think all of this. But it isn't about that, it's about the here and now. It's about learning to heed the signs when it is OUR time, no one else's. We have the control, I only wish I had used it much earlier, when a half hour out of my day seemed like it couldn't be done. But I found time to do all the other things, take care of the children, husband, cook, clean, study, teach, watch the neighbors children, attend all of the girls' activities, be a Girl Scout leader, Sunday School teacher, sister, daughter, friend, and social diva! What I don't think I did enough was give myself the sabbaticals needed, but now, thank you God, thank you Allison, thank you Michael, I have learned a hard lesson.

I need my sabbaticals and I don't mean in the form of trips or anything that costs money. In doing so, I find my balance, my center, my purpose, my strength, my core, and my way to keep living. I won't look back with any regret, but I will continue to spread the message within to those I love and hold dear, take that sabbatical, it will be well worth it.