I have heard from others who have lost someone dear that often times you can catch a glimpse of someone and they are so quickly reminded of the person, there are either similarities in physical features, identical ways in which they walk, clothes that represented what was in style when that loved one lived on earth...many fascinating coincidences. I have seen Allison in many others along the way, or have seen her driving the gold sebring convertible that became hers, I have seen her in the aisles of Target, and I have seen her in many crowds. It's almost like I have forgotten, for just a moment, that she is gone and that person is not really her. A wave of recognition comes over me, for a minuscule of a second, then reality strikes and a weird sensation pulsates through me. It happened again, just yesterday, as I came out to my car from the grocery store. Just two cars over, there she was, a young girl, dressed identical to how Allison would dress on her "comfort" days...the baggy sweat pants with the word PINK emblemed on the bottom, the slipper shoes that serve for inside and out, the hair pulled into a pony tail, sitting atop her head, the wide, stretchy headband pulling her bangs back, and even the smudges of mascara under her eyes, possibly left from an unwashed face from the night before. Yet, that glow was there. It was surreal. I stared. My knees felt weak and I didn't really move. I know this young lady wondered what I was staring at, and I felt so compelled to tell her. As she locked her car and carried her cup of coffee and purse over her shoulder, she not only resembled Allison in ways too deep for description, but she walked like her, caught my eye and smiled. I was literally transfixed. Transfixed on her face, her features, her eyes, that held a smile, too. So many thoughts entered my mind, who is this girl, what does she do, is she in school, what is her life like? It's amazing to me how much you can feel, sense, and think, all in the course of a few seconds. But it seemed like minutes. I literally waited and watched her walk away, and I must say it was as if she vanished. It was as if she was not really there at all, because I couldn't tell you what store she entered, where she went, in one minute she was there, and in the next, there was no sign of her at all.
There has been an array of feelings in my soul since this sighting. It happens from time to time. And when it does, I wonder, was it real? Was it my imagination? Was it my sign that just when I thought I had the world by the tail, embracing a dark and gray day, doing my best to make the best of it, I was snapped into reality, a reality that I am learning to live through, my way, and in a way that pays homage to those I love. The pain came gripping back and nearly knocked me to my knees. While grief is never far from my grasp, I am learning how to live, breathe, laugh, smile, and maneuver it. But this reminder was intense, and how I missed her. God, you know how I wanted to cry and ask once again, why this kind of pain, why did this have to happen? Why her? When is this going to seem real? When is this going to go away?
I thought of this as being the most pain I have ever known, the loss of a child. I wonder if that is true, but for me, it seems like it. It seems that no matter what I bear or endure, nothing will compare. I would rather it be me. I would rather take the burden. I would do it all again, for my child, the one that has gone before us, and for the one that lives. I just wonder, that's all. Is this the most suffering I will ever know? Is this the giant of all giants? Will I ever face anything like it in my lifetime? What is in store for me? For us? How do I live? When I saw her standing there, not Allison, but a close replica, I wanted this to be a dream, a nightmare, and I would wake up, innocent and naive to this sort of pain. I can pledge and preach and state that I know pain and suffering is part of life, and I believe it. I now know what was not mine to know, until now. I see the faces of parents on the news or the talk shows whose children are missing, or found in fields, or who have lived for years under the guise of being someone else's child. I hear in their voices the pain that comes from knowing that there will never be that moment where you can comfort or take it all away, guide and protect. Their innocence is lost, thus, as their parents, ours is, too. I watch the battle that the people of Haiti have to face, the parents whose children are out of reach, without proper burial or ceremony, the grief, and the anguish in their faces. At times like these, there are no words needed, necessary. One just knows once they have walked the journey of losing a child, no matter the age.
Still, seeing her standing there, not Allison, of course, but the other young woman, I was reminded of so much I have learned. I have found joy in facing the truth, in knowing where my child is, in being granted those last days, hours, minutes with her. I can be sparked for hours on the mere memory of her radiant smile, and I know there is joy in believing and holding true to faith that I will see her again. I trust that there is somehow joy in suffering, for in that intensity, the faith grows stronger and the spirit grows more hopeful, knowing a miracle awaits for all of us. We know not what it will be, we just know when we find joy in believing, that God works all things out for good.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
"Lost" or "Won" The Battle?
With so much cancer invading our lives, and the lives of so many others, I hear an expression quite often that resonates with me on many levels. When cancer takes the life of someone, you will hear it in the voices of the ones left behind, or you will hear it on the news, or in "water cooler" conversations....the phrase...."he/she LOST the battle with cancer". I guess I don't like the sound of it, but I understand the concept...the cancer took over and the person lost their life. They are gone. They died. They passed away. However you choose to say it, the cancer took the life. I get that. I really do. After all, I have watched cancer rear its ugly head, up close and personal, in the lives of two of my dearest souls, my father, then my daughter. Now, I watch it play havoc with my brother-in-law as he and the family ride the roller coaster ride it can take you on...the highs, the lows, the dilemma of what to do, do I take a job, do I not, do I start this project, do I not? Do I dare plan for a future when I don't know if I will be here to see the fruits of my labor pay off? What do I do, what do we do? Do we plan or merely exist? Do I take this course of treatment, do I dare hope for a better future? How do I really learn to take one day at a time? Indeed, the questions would never stop.
The numbers continue to be staggering and we can become obsessed with cancer. We know now what we hoped to never know. We have lost our innocence. We see people who live for years and years with a similar diagnosis, we see people "lose" the battle within days of diagnosis. We see people abuse their bodies as soon as they leave the chemotherapy chair, or continue habits that most of us cannot imagine, and we can wonder many things, not putting less value on their lives, but still, wondering. We can ponder, how does a vibrant, healthy young woman, or a teenager, or a 10 month old baby, "lose" a life to some rare type of cancer? Why is childhood cancer on the rise and certain types of cancers taking the lives of our pre-schoolers? How does one family who I have come to know through their caring bridge site, bury a child and the next day the father receives his own cancer diagnosis, now, looking at his own battle with barely a breath to begin grieving for his child? Again, the questions rise and can never stop.
But the answer is simple. It is life. We are not immune just because we think we have done things right or that we deserve a break! We don't get a "pass" that allows us only so much pain and loss and suffering. These things no longer happen to "other" people. They happen to us, as well intentioned, devoted, educated, spiritual, God loving people that we think we are....they happen to all of us. And the lesson is that they always will, and for now, we just have this day. There are times the day seems hopeless, and that the fight may not be worth the result, but who is to say. Who is to say, when it is all said and done, that we "lost" the battle, I say, we will have "won". And I say that with the conviction that in the case of the faithful, those who walk with God on their side and in their corner, there can be no losing. We will win, and we will each have our own miracle. The miracle may not look like we expect it to, but it is there. I remember, very vividly, talking with Allison about those miracles. We never gave up, nor did she, that a miracle would occur. But we always said, we won't know what it is, but we hope we recognize it when it comes. And we did. She did. She knew her miracle was to be saved from future pain and a life of needles, treatment and appointments. Her own personal miracle was that she "won" the battle, in no way did she "lose". She found her home in a loving God who spared her much, who never imposed the cancer in the first place, but knew her as a follower, who needed her far more than we did, who knew her work would be better served in His Kingdom. This is something we have all known, but has taken me three years to articulate.
We won't ever change perceptions and terminology and total outcomes of cancer or the losses we will face. All we can do is know in our heart where we stand with God above, that when it becomes our time for our own miracle, we will recognize it, know it and accept it. We will know, without a doubt, no matter what our circumstance, that we have "won" our battle, whatever it may be, cancer, disease, pain, loss, personal suffering. We get to choose and I prefer to win, rather than ever lose.
The numbers continue to be staggering and we can become obsessed with cancer. We know now what we hoped to never know. We have lost our innocence. We see people who live for years and years with a similar diagnosis, we see people "lose" the battle within days of diagnosis. We see people abuse their bodies as soon as they leave the chemotherapy chair, or continue habits that most of us cannot imagine, and we can wonder many things, not putting less value on their lives, but still, wondering. We can ponder, how does a vibrant, healthy young woman, or a teenager, or a 10 month old baby, "lose" a life to some rare type of cancer? Why is childhood cancer on the rise and certain types of cancers taking the lives of our pre-schoolers? How does one family who I have come to know through their caring bridge site, bury a child and the next day the father receives his own cancer diagnosis, now, looking at his own battle with barely a breath to begin grieving for his child? Again, the questions rise and can never stop.
But the answer is simple. It is life. We are not immune just because we think we have done things right or that we deserve a break! We don't get a "pass" that allows us only so much pain and loss and suffering. These things no longer happen to "other" people. They happen to us, as well intentioned, devoted, educated, spiritual, God loving people that we think we are....they happen to all of us. And the lesson is that they always will, and for now, we just have this day. There are times the day seems hopeless, and that the fight may not be worth the result, but who is to say. Who is to say, when it is all said and done, that we "lost" the battle, I say, we will have "won". And I say that with the conviction that in the case of the faithful, those who walk with God on their side and in their corner, there can be no losing. We will win, and we will each have our own miracle. The miracle may not look like we expect it to, but it is there. I remember, very vividly, talking with Allison about those miracles. We never gave up, nor did she, that a miracle would occur. But we always said, we won't know what it is, but we hope we recognize it when it comes. And we did. She did. She knew her miracle was to be saved from future pain and a life of needles, treatment and appointments. Her own personal miracle was that she "won" the battle, in no way did she "lose". She found her home in a loving God who spared her much, who never imposed the cancer in the first place, but knew her as a follower, who needed her far more than we did, who knew her work would be better served in His Kingdom. This is something we have all known, but has taken me three years to articulate.
We won't ever change perceptions and terminology and total outcomes of cancer or the losses we will face. All we can do is know in our heart where we stand with God above, that when it becomes our time for our own miracle, we will recognize it, know it and accept it. We will know, without a doubt, no matter what our circumstance, that we have "won" our battle, whatever it may be, cancer, disease, pain, loss, personal suffering. We get to choose and I prefer to win, rather than ever lose.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Getting My "House" In Order
I had a conversation with my brother-in-law on a recent trip to visit my sister and him...well, I had many thought provoking ones, but one in particular sort of stays with me. As if it weren't enough to try and comprehend the passing of our daughter, their niece, on the heels of the loss cancer invaded again. This time in the form of multiple myeloma, a blood cancer that has taken him and the family on a ride of its own. Rather young by medical standards, he has already endured months of treatments, side effects, a stem cell transplant, and more. The MORE is what one doesn't SEE when loved ones "live" through cancer. It need not be described for there are no words, at least not this soon. You really cannot do any of it justice anyway, the sleepless nights, the visits to the bathroom, the pains, the alarm set to turn our loved ones over because they can no longer do that on their own, the escorting to and from the places that used to be private, the deterioration of a body, the ripping of a soul. You just cannot imagine. Until my father I never could. Then my daughter. Now, Michael. And no matter what the prognosis is, "living" with cancer takes parts of us that we never even knew existed. We are always waiting, for this blood test, this test result, wondering about this pain, or that, curious as to whether as we sit and breathe if cancer is taking hold. It's a complex journey.
As Michael and I talked about the many who have come into our life with their own diagnosis and unique journey, he was sharing about another gentleman in town with a raging cancer. He spoke to someone else who was suggesting this person "get their house in order". Immediately, when hearing this story, I moved, in my mind, from the literal sense to the spirit of the soul. But I would do that, that is where I am now. And that is where I have been since I have buried my child. Sure, I live in the literal sense as well, society demands it, our world expects it. But for me, the journey is much deeper and I was reminded of how all my healing thus far has been to get my own "house" in order. If I meant in the literal sense, I know one thing for sure, it would never happen. I have a pantry waiting for some major organization and a basement filled with items that need to be removed. I have a linen closet that needs cleaning out and I have tables that need to be cleaned since they have not seen this side of a dust cloth since before Christmas! I need to make sure our living will is brought up to date and I need to pay bills! All this to say, it's always a work in progress and will NEVER be in order.
This healing that has occurred over the past three years, and that continues to evolve, is how I am getting my "house" in order. I am not letting the other things go unattended, nor am I not living in the real world, but I am doing it my way. I have learned through experiences in my life and in the death of my youngest daughter that our bodies are our temples and that our spiritual essence manifests through a physical body. Our "home" is our soul, and all our energy follows thought. Where we place our thoughts, that is where energy will begin to manifest. Through pain and loss, and what I call the constant companion and shadow of grief, I must dwell upon the blessings and potentials that are possible within my life. I have always determined that I must look at what I DO have, rather than look at the limitations. As I learn to do so, I find that I do not have to be at the mercy of what life circumstances, or of my body, dictate. I have found that to get my "house" in order, I must walk the spiritual walk, fill my mind and soul with as much light, hope and energy that I can so that the healing takes place. I cannot say it is easy, simple or without sheer and utter pain. It brings me to my knees, this job of getting my "house" in order. I have to read, study, journal, contemplate, stay inspired by scripture and stories of men and women who have gone before me. I must find peace and fulfillment in my life, as it is, not as it was, not as it will be, but where it is now. I must make time for the things that matter, and still adapt to the surroundings for the bills keep coming, the groceries need to be bought, the house needs to be tended and life keeps on. Just because there are days I wish it weren't so, the world doesn't stop turning for me. I get to be the master of my day and my thoughts. Some would say that might be easy, I am retired, I have time, I have resources, I have the desire. And I agree, but, for me, and I can only speak for me, I must take what is handed and use the time I have to make it count.
Time is an interesting concept...at some point we all wake up and recognize we are terminal. It might be when we hear the diagnosis of cancer. It might be when we lose so deeply that we never, ever take another day for granted. It might be when we get older and we realize we have lived more than half of our lives. It might be the day we hold a funeral for our daughter and the walls of the house grow silent, no more to hear the vitality of youth, to see her mature and perhaps marry or have children. But there comes a time when we know we must stop and smell the roses, as they say, savor, breathe because we can, learn, grow, count our blessings, and yes, get our "house" in order. My work will never be done in the shelter of a house, but in my spirit, I pray that when God is ready, so may I be, my "house" in order to be received with open arms. And of course, I pray that is a long time from now. But ready or not, the time will come, and I prefer to be ready.
Thank you, Michael, for the wonderful "talks", perspectives and love as we both take another step in this thing called life.
As Michael and I talked about the many who have come into our life with their own diagnosis and unique journey, he was sharing about another gentleman in town with a raging cancer. He spoke to someone else who was suggesting this person "get their house in order". Immediately, when hearing this story, I moved, in my mind, from the literal sense to the spirit of the soul. But I would do that, that is where I am now. And that is where I have been since I have buried my child. Sure, I live in the literal sense as well, society demands it, our world expects it. But for me, the journey is much deeper and I was reminded of how all my healing thus far has been to get my own "house" in order. If I meant in the literal sense, I know one thing for sure, it would never happen. I have a pantry waiting for some major organization and a basement filled with items that need to be removed. I have a linen closet that needs cleaning out and I have tables that need to be cleaned since they have not seen this side of a dust cloth since before Christmas! I need to make sure our living will is brought up to date and I need to pay bills! All this to say, it's always a work in progress and will NEVER be in order.
This healing that has occurred over the past three years, and that continues to evolve, is how I am getting my "house" in order. I am not letting the other things go unattended, nor am I not living in the real world, but I am doing it my way. I have learned through experiences in my life and in the death of my youngest daughter that our bodies are our temples and that our spiritual essence manifests through a physical body. Our "home" is our soul, and all our energy follows thought. Where we place our thoughts, that is where energy will begin to manifest. Through pain and loss, and what I call the constant companion and shadow of grief, I must dwell upon the blessings and potentials that are possible within my life. I have always determined that I must look at what I DO have, rather than look at the limitations. As I learn to do so, I find that I do not have to be at the mercy of what life circumstances, or of my body, dictate. I have found that to get my "house" in order, I must walk the spiritual walk, fill my mind and soul with as much light, hope and energy that I can so that the healing takes place. I cannot say it is easy, simple or without sheer and utter pain. It brings me to my knees, this job of getting my "house" in order. I have to read, study, journal, contemplate, stay inspired by scripture and stories of men and women who have gone before me. I must find peace and fulfillment in my life, as it is, not as it was, not as it will be, but where it is now. I must make time for the things that matter, and still adapt to the surroundings for the bills keep coming, the groceries need to be bought, the house needs to be tended and life keeps on. Just because there are days I wish it weren't so, the world doesn't stop turning for me. I get to be the master of my day and my thoughts. Some would say that might be easy, I am retired, I have time, I have resources, I have the desire. And I agree, but, for me, and I can only speak for me, I must take what is handed and use the time I have to make it count.
Time is an interesting concept...at some point we all wake up and recognize we are terminal. It might be when we hear the diagnosis of cancer. It might be when we lose so deeply that we never, ever take another day for granted. It might be when we get older and we realize we have lived more than half of our lives. It might be the day we hold a funeral for our daughter and the walls of the house grow silent, no more to hear the vitality of youth, to see her mature and perhaps marry or have children. But there comes a time when we know we must stop and smell the roses, as they say, savor, breathe because we can, learn, grow, count our blessings, and yes, get our "house" in order. My work will never be done in the shelter of a house, but in my spirit, I pray that when God is ready, so may I be, my "house" in order to be received with open arms. And of course, I pray that is a long time from now. But ready or not, the time will come, and I prefer to be ready.
Thank you, Michael, for the wonderful "talks", perspectives and love as we both take another step in this thing called life.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Swimming
I'm not much of a swimmer, never have been. I am not all that comfortable in water. really. When I visit the ocean, I may go up to my knees, further in the south, ankles in new england! I can tread water and I can stay afloat if I must. But I like walking in pools and doing the little bit that I can. Lately, though, I feel the pull of water, as a sense that washes over me. I feel like I am in water, I even dream about it, not gasping for air, not struggling, just moving through a foggy, rather murky water and I must stay afloat. I feel like I am treading water, even as I walk, move, breathe, sleep. I suppose that is what the subconscious does to one when intense times come. I imagine that it must be some kind of symbol that I am trying to clear the path with my arm and hands, doing all that I can to get to the next destination. But what is it? How will I know that all is clear? When will the simple act of "living" feel effortless and when will the fatigue of this "swimmer" be minimized?
I doubt that there are answers to my questions. I believe that they come through trust and faith and love. I have to know that around the bend, or through the murky waters, I am, one day, going to feel less emotionally fatigued, that my legs will hold me up and carry me with more strength, and that I won't keep treading through the unknown.
Until that time, I work to move through the gravitational pull that tries to take me down. The emotional trauma takes time to "wear off", and the shock will begin to dissipate. I already see that it is shedding, some. I see the beauty in the water, the trees, the cycle of the seasons. Yes, they bring pain, in the form of "triggers" and reminders, but the energy that comes from them is a gift when despair sets in. They are there as God's finest creations, there to provide a purpose under heaven, to show us about life and death, the earth will help us. We draw our strength from a powerful source.
And we are never really alone. This I have come to know. Even if I were to not have the support and love of family and friends, I would not be alone. God promises that He will always be there, and I keep looking, and asking, as I tread upstream on many days. In the book of Isaiah, 43:1-5, it states, "The Lord who created you says, do not be afraid, I have ransomed you, called you by name, you are mine. When you go through deep waters, you will not drown, when you go through great trouble, I will be with you through rivers of difficulty and fire of oppression, you will not be burned up, flames will not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, you are precious to me, you are honored. I love you. Do not be afraid, for I am with you."
Thank you Beverly, for sharing this scripture with me at such an appropriate time, a time when I can literally feel as though I will not come out of the waters. It reminds me that we are all children of God, something that can easily be forgotten, I know Allison was, all God's children, but sometimes I can lose sight of the fact that in His eyes, I AM his child, and He is tending to all my needs.
I doubt that there are answers to my questions. I believe that they come through trust and faith and love. I have to know that around the bend, or through the murky waters, I am, one day, going to feel less emotionally fatigued, that my legs will hold me up and carry me with more strength, and that I won't keep treading through the unknown.
Until that time, I work to move through the gravitational pull that tries to take me down. The emotional trauma takes time to "wear off", and the shock will begin to dissipate. I already see that it is shedding, some. I see the beauty in the water, the trees, the cycle of the seasons. Yes, they bring pain, in the form of "triggers" and reminders, but the energy that comes from them is a gift when despair sets in. They are there as God's finest creations, there to provide a purpose under heaven, to show us about life and death, the earth will help us. We draw our strength from a powerful source.
And we are never really alone. This I have come to know. Even if I were to not have the support and love of family and friends, I would not be alone. God promises that He will always be there, and I keep looking, and asking, as I tread upstream on many days. In the book of Isaiah, 43:1-5, it states, "The Lord who created you says, do not be afraid, I have ransomed you, called you by name, you are mine. When you go through deep waters, you will not drown, when you go through great trouble, I will be with you through rivers of difficulty and fire of oppression, you will not be burned up, flames will not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, you are precious to me, you are honored. I love you. Do not be afraid, for I am with you."
Thank you Beverly, for sharing this scripture with me at such an appropriate time, a time when I can literally feel as though I will not come out of the waters. It reminds me that we are all children of God, something that can easily be forgotten, I know Allison was, all God's children, but sometimes I can lose sight of the fact that in His eyes, I AM his child, and He is tending to all my needs.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Two Parents
How do two parents (or a sister, brother, friend, aunt, uncle, grandparent, for that matter) choose to spend the "anniversary date" of the passing of their child?! There is no plan, no script, no outline, no way that we are prepared for such a thing, such an event, and we know not what to do. We have had only two experiences, so on this third year, there still is no design or way to get through it, we just do. We follow the spirit that has led us since that morning, just three years ago, and we honor, remember, and celebrate in some fashion. We both know it is not unlike any other day, but somehow the chamber of our soul lets us know that there IS something different. There are beautiful moments and there are painful moments that only the two of us can know. Others have their own loss and remembrances. Their pain is not ours. And even as together as we are, we both recognize, honor, and respect that we still have to cope with our individual loss. So we find our way, we cling to one another, we embrace and almost collapse in one another's arms. Our individual tears meld and entwine as they run down our cheeks until you could never tell whose is whose...but we smile, too, and we acknowledge where we are. We find strength. We recoil. One of us lies down under a blanket, in fetal position, praying to drift off to sleep for a bit.One of us tries to read but the words are blurred and nothing makes sense. One of us runs and runs until the fatigue takes over and rest can come. One of us tries to move through as if it is a "normal" Saturday, doing chores, trying to be productive, but knowing she is moving in circles. We both know this was not a Saturday, but a Tuesday morning, the 9th of January, at 7:00 a.m. when she took her last breath, when we had not even comprehended a cancer diagnosis, let alone that it would take her from us in this form. It's the year 2007 again, when the cold of winter was prevalent, and unknown to us, about to get colder and icier and the dead of winter would prevail. But that all had purpose under heaven, now we know. Now we know so much. Our innocence has been shredded, ripped, and lost, and we now know.
How do two parents move through such a day? Just like we do every other day. We do what must be done. We attend events and ceremonies as we can, and we broaden our horizons. We follow some routines. But we allow the moments that do come, and we honor them, too. We are here for our daughter, recognizing that she is building a life that involves her own way of moving through and honoring her sister. We may sit in silence. We may make a meal of comfort. We remember. We smile. We cry. We live. We travel, literally and figuratively. We look in one another's eyes and we see so much more than before, we attempt to speak, but no words can come. Then when we do, the words don't stop. We have faced journeys without even packing a suitcase or boarding a plane. We have known darkness that reaches to the core of our beings, but we have seen light that seeps in and takes it all aways. We settle in and watch a movie, or we play with Rex, for he knows not what has gone before him, here in the confines of our family unit. He needs his routine, his play time, his food and his walks! So, come rain or shine, we move on, and through, and we find our way.
We can say these sorts of days are just like any other,and in many senses, they are. The "triggers" never leave, we just learn a new way of life, with them as our constant companion. Yet, the day itself does bring about other emotions that sometimes seem to lie dormant, only to rise up and surge through our souls, needing to be dealt with and coped with...and we do, and we will. Sometimes we don't know how, and often we wish it weren't so that this is our plight. But it is. And we will live to honor a life that was once so brilliant and vibrant. She still is, now, we find, in different form.
So, how do we do this? Through love for her, for her sister, for each other and ourselves, to pay tribute to a loving God who has brought us this far, and who will not forsake us. And we are thankful for the day to do it, with each other. Life could hand us a different set of circumstances at any moment, so we are thankful, everyday that we are two parents who get to do this together. It doesn't take away any of the loss, the grief, the complete and utter despair, but for this day, we have each other, and we are grateful.
How do two parents move through such a day? Just like we do every other day. We do what must be done. We attend events and ceremonies as we can, and we broaden our horizons. We follow some routines. But we allow the moments that do come, and we honor them, too. We are here for our daughter, recognizing that she is building a life that involves her own way of moving through and honoring her sister. We may sit in silence. We may make a meal of comfort. We remember. We smile. We cry. We live. We travel, literally and figuratively. We look in one another's eyes and we see so much more than before, we attempt to speak, but no words can come. Then when we do, the words don't stop. We have faced journeys without even packing a suitcase or boarding a plane. We have known darkness that reaches to the core of our beings, but we have seen light that seeps in and takes it all aways. We settle in and watch a movie, or we play with Rex, for he knows not what has gone before him, here in the confines of our family unit. He needs his routine, his play time, his food and his walks! So, come rain or shine, we move on, and through, and we find our way.
We can say these sorts of days are just like any other,and in many senses, they are. The "triggers" never leave, we just learn a new way of life, with them as our constant companion. Yet, the day itself does bring about other emotions that sometimes seem to lie dormant, only to rise up and surge through our souls, needing to be dealt with and coped with...and we do, and we will. Sometimes we don't know how, and often we wish it weren't so that this is our plight. But it is. And we will live to honor a life that was once so brilliant and vibrant. She still is, now, we find, in different form.
So, how do we do this? Through love for her, for her sister, for each other and ourselves, to pay tribute to a loving God who has brought us this far, and who will not forsake us. And we are thankful for the day to do it, with each other. Life could hand us a different set of circumstances at any moment, so we are thankful, everyday that we are two parents who get to do this together. It doesn't take away any of the loss, the grief, the complete and utter despair, but for this day, we have each other, and we are grateful.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Morning Has Broken
Morning has broken, as it did that morning three years ago this moment. It now seems appropriate that our Allison left us at dawn. It signifies a new day. It shows us we do not know what each one holds. That is the beauty. That is the wonder. That is the mystery. That is the reason to live it. At dawn, as she transcended from this world to her eternal home, how loving the arms on both sides must have felt to her. There was love in the room like we had never known and I can only imagine the love in the heavens, the joy, the peace, the freedom, the release from the bondage of this world. That is what I will focus on today, my sweet child. You are free and loved and known, because of that moment in time, when our arms and hearts were intermingled and you left your physical body. I will capture the grace and love of a merciful God and I will cling to your strength and courage, will, and spirit, but mostly, your love.
I will seize the day and I will hold you in my heart until our promised reunion, under God's holy word. I will mourn, of course, every fiber is tingling with some form of emotion, but I will find the smile and know the love and blessing that this day holds, for you, for myself, for your father and your sister. I will live. And I will hold love in the chambers of my soul.
I will seize the day and I will hold you in my heart until our promised reunion, under God's holy word. I will mourn, of course, every fiber is tingling with some form of emotion, but I will find the smile and know the love and blessing that this day holds, for you, for myself, for your father and your sister. I will live. And I will hold love in the chambers of my soul.
Friday, January 8, 2010
I Just Want You to Know...More
Dear Allison, this is my therapy this day, pouring out my heart to you, as if you don't already know what lies there, what sounds it makes, how it weeps for you on this last full day you spent with your family and friends. I long to close out the physical sounds of your cries as you begged to come home this day, so anxious that no amount of drug would calm or sedate you. I work in all ways to shut out the screams, the begging, the pain, the rage of cancer, literally taking over your strong and amazing body, the darkness of night and I strive to only remember the sweetness and the gifts that come from this day. But no mother wants to remember the LAST day their child had, no matter how you look at it, even through the beautiful lense, I don't want to think about it. So I have stayed busy doing other things, even with the snow day, and the cold, I am warmed by your love in this house, that lingers through the belongings I touch and the photos I scan. Why I have finally chosen this time to go through all the photos that your sister and friends put on the boards for your service and visitation, I don't know. I guess I was ready for this step. But board by board, picture by picture, I would find myself in utter disbelief, still, that you are gone. I want you to know that what I miss most is your hand. That was our common touch. It amazed me how you were not embarrassed to take my hand, in public, in private, and there were times I wasn't sure who was holding whose to lend strength to the other! Right now, I want you to know, I feel your hand and it is holding tightly through this day, these memories, this moment.
I just want you to know, too, that rocking you to eternal sleep was one of my greatest privileges, if not THE most important act of motherhood. It stays with me, not just on this day, but every day of my life. I want you to know that the gift I received from that moment was that all fear is gone, I have nothing to worry about any longer. Even should I lose other family members, and I will, I will not fear, for I know now that you are there, and through salvation and the gift of grace, they will be, too. I know horrible and terrible things can still happen, cancer can invade, accidents can occur, suffering will come again, but don't you see, I have faced the giant and if peace comes from all of this, it is the notion that all is temporal and this too shall pass. I have held my head up, lived a life, and I will die, someday, a long time from now, I hope, knowing that I served God with dignity. You have taught me so much.
I used to ask God relentlessly to help me find the peace that passes all understanding. I will never understand your illness or death. So, I have never really tried. But I have begged and pleaded with God to show my why and how it was you, and slowly, over time, the answers are there. But I have to be open to see them. I pray to be still and hear Him, feel Him, even when I am busy. Oh, I know, I have the gift of time. And believe me, I am grateful. There is nothing more beautiful than retirement and having your day to follow where the spirit leads. But, Allison, if I am honest, my retirement came about as a result of you leaving, so sometimes, I call it the mixed blessing. But sometimes I know it was all part of God's plan for me to be where I am. I must admit, though, when people tell me they are envious or jealous of my retirement, I do cringe. They don't know what those words say to me, they couldn't. So, I don't try to explain. But you know. You know that I want to cry out and say, "no, you don't want my life", "this isn't as you think you see". I want to tell them to look deeper or let me explain. But most people don't have time for that, the important ones, do, though. And that is all that matters.
I want you to know that you have helped me recognize the signs you send and allow myself that it is "okay", that it is not strange when the times I need it most, that "right" person calls, or the other day when I was sitting in a parking lot, listening to a song that was so YOU, with tears running down my face, and needing so desperately to be "connected" to you, my cell phone rang, and it was Sandy, in her office, listening to the same song, on the radio, feeling pulled and nudged to call me in the middle of her day, something that she does not do, but knew she had to at the time. I felt you and I know you knew what I needed. I want you to know I do not question these things any longer. I have learned that when you "live" in spirit world, so much can happen, and this is how our relationship must be, now. I want you to know I am more aware and appreciative and I see you, feel you, know you, everywhere. It is no longer cliche' that you are in the wind, the sun, the moon, the stars, the plants, and the sunsets, sunrises. There is no explanation as to how, on the first anniversary of your passing, the skies across the country turned pink and photos were e-mailed to all of us, and in Iowa, Rut could see a clear and distinct "A", outlined in pink, against the magnificence of God's handiwork. You have helped me put the wonder in wonderment and I enjoy it all. It doesn't matter who believes or not, for all I know is that I do, and that is all that matters.
I want you to know that our connection of the heart is my greatest gift today. For nine months I felt your heart connected to mine in the deep bosom of my soul, your body entwined with mine. And in the last hours, it surely was God's plan that our physical souls were wound together, as one, with Dad looking on, and holding us both. I will never, no never, forget the hours that begin tonight, of me holding your hand to my heart and mine to yours, and never moving it. I wanted to feel every heart beat, and as it began to slowly fade, I could lay my head on your chest to be sure, and I could know that you were at peace. I just want you to know that moment will never leave the chambers of my own heart and has bonded us for eternity. I thank God every day of my life for that moment, because I could so easily been someplace else when it was your time, but I wasn't, and Dad wasn't, and Jen wasn't. And you had your dog, in the form of a stuffed one, but as you said your final words and took your final breath, there we all were, one family, one unit, blending as one soul.
I want you to know that my heart is pouring and my thoughts are whirling and my soul is aching, but I am blessed. I have never ceased to list my five blessings of every day in my "blessing journal". Some days that is all I can accomplish, other days I can be as productive as I was in a 12 hour day at work! I want you to be proud. I live to serve who I can and what I can, in the name of the Holy Father. I live to find myself and will live through this journey, I will be here for your father and sister and all who travel in my path. You have shown me how to BE.
Your mom, eternally, with love.
I just want you to know, too, that rocking you to eternal sleep was one of my greatest privileges, if not THE most important act of motherhood. It stays with me, not just on this day, but every day of my life. I want you to know that the gift I received from that moment was that all fear is gone, I have nothing to worry about any longer. Even should I lose other family members, and I will, I will not fear, for I know now that you are there, and through salvation and the gift of grace, they will be, too. I know horrible and terrible things can still happen, cancer can invade, accidents can occur, suffering will come again, but don't you see, I have faced the giant and if peace comes from all of this, it is the notion that all is temporal and this too shall pass. I have held my head up, lived a life, and I will die, someday, a long time from now, I hope, knowing that I served God with dignity. You have taught me so much.
I used to ask God relentlessly to help me find the peace that passes all understanding. I will never understand your illness or death. So, I have never really tried. But I have begged and pleaded with God to show my why and how it was you, and slowly, over time, the answers are there. But I have to be open to see them. I pray to be still and hear Him, feel Him, even when I am busy. Oh, I know, I have the gift of time. And believe me, I am grateful. There is nothing more beautiful than retirement and having your day to follow where the spirit leads. But, Allison, if I am honest, my retirement came about as a result of you leaving, so sometimes, I call it the mixed blessing. But sometimes I know it was all part of God's plan for me to be where I am. I must admit, though, when people tell me they are envious or jealous of my retirement, I do cringe. They don't know what those words say to me, they couldn't. So, I don't try to explain. But you know. You know that I want to cry out and say, "no, you don't want my life", "this isn't as you think you see". I want to tell them to look deeper or let me explain. But most people don't have time for that, the important ones, do, though. And that is all that matters.
I want you to know that you have helped me recognize the signs you send and allow myself that it is "okay", that it is not strange when the times I need it most, that "right" person calls, or the other day when I was sitting in a parking lot, listening to a song that was so YOU, with tears running down my face, and needing so desperately to be "connected" to you, my cell phone rang, and it was Sandy, in her office, listening to the same song, on the radio, feeling pulled and nudged to call me in the middle of her day, something that she does not do, but knew she had to at the time. I felt you and I know you knew what I needed. I want you to know I do not question these things any longer. I have learned that when you "live" in spirit world, so much can happen, and this is how our relationship must be, now. I want you to know I am more aware and appreciative and I see you, feel you, know you, everywhere. It is no longer cliche' that you are in the wind, the sun, the moon, the stars, the plants, and the sunsets, sunrises. There is no explanation as to how, on the first anniversary of your passing, the skies across the country turned pink and photos were e-mailed to all of us, and in Iowa, Rut could see a clear and distinct "A", outlined in pink, against the magnificence of God's handiwork. You have helped me put the wonder in wonderment and I enjoy it all. It doesn't matter who believes or not, for all I know is that I do, and that is all that matters.
I want you to know that our connection of the heart is my greatest gift today. For nine months I felt your heart connected to mine in the deep bosom of my soul, your body entwined with mine. And in the last hours, it surely was God's plan that our physical souls were wound together, as one, with Dad looking on, and holding us both. I will never, no never, forget the hours that begin tonight, of me holding your hand to my heart and mine to yours, and never moving it. I wanted to feel every heart beat, and as it began to slowly fade, I could lay my head on your chest to be sure, and I could know that you were at peace. I just want you to know that moment will never leave the chambers of my own heart and has bonded us for eternity. I thank God every day of my life for that moment, because I could so easily been someplace else when it was your time, but I wasn't, and Dad wasn't, and Jen wasn't. And you had your dog, in the form of a stuffed one, but as you said your final words and took your final breath, there we all were, one family, one unit, blending as one soul.
I want you to know that my heart is pouring and my thoughts are whirling and my soul is aching, but I am blessed. I have never ceased to list my five blessings of every day in my "blessing journal". Some days that is all I can accomplish, other days I can be as productive as I was in a 12 hour day at work! I want you to be proud. I live to serve who I can and what I can, in the name of the Holy Father. I live to find myself and will live through this journey, I will be here for your father and sister and all who travel in my path. You have shown me how to BE.
Your mom, eternally, with love.
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