If Only. . .

If I want to write, I have to write. . .even if it means I have nothing to write about. With the ending of 2022, it would appear I have much to write, but just as I felt I was experiencing life in a fog like vapor, the night she passed away, the fog hasn't lifted. . .yet. I am however plotting my course, digging into the tools that provide me with the roadmap to dissect my grief, deal with it, and move through it, albeit slowly. The bible, my gratitude journal, therapy-these are the tools I tuck away in my tool box that I carry with me around the clock now. These tools are my safety net in a world that feels anything but.

Going back to that night, October 1st isn't something I am ready to do. My hands start to shake, my heart races, the dread of that night returns with just a thought. A single flicker is all it takes to take me backwards, and I am determined to heal whole. My husband and kids deserve the best parts of me, not a shell of the person I was before mom died. Looking back, I was already moved out of the house when my mom's mom died. Her struggle with cancer was swift. My grandma knew what she was saying yes to when she refused treatment and six weeks later, December 27th she went home to heaven. Even the night before she died, my memories of my mom losing her mom were stoic. She did all the things a loving caregiver would do. They had said all that needed to be said. There was a very evident peace between them. I remember so clearly crawling on to my grandma's bed reading aloud from, Love You Forever,  by Robert Munsch. I choked through the ending bringing both my mom and I to tears. It was a moment I will treasure forever. Three generations on one bed, together one last time. I always envisioned having the long good bye with my Mom. I was so very, very wrong.

My mom is one of the strongest women I have ever known, especially in the area of caregiving. She cared for both her parents and father in law up until their deaths. The emotional and physical toll that would have on her body was not evident at first. There were many times  in her life that I would watch her and think to myself, "I could never. . ." I actually feared her getting older because of the responsibilities that might one day come. She would joke back, "That's why we have long term health care," and that crutch made me feel a little bit better.  I have always known what a gift her level of care was, but now I see how she willingly sacrificed pieces of herself to care for each of our loved ones. 

As much as I envisioned the long good bye, maybe it simply wasn't long enough because in some ways I guess I had it. I just didn't realize that is what it was. Shortly after losing her dad in 2004, my Mom was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. I was pregnant with my second child at twenty-nine years old. I remember clearly calling out to the Lord to save my Mom, to heal her, and give us all the gift of more time. At barely fifty-one years old, having cared for and losing both her parents, working in the dark environment of a prison, and a marriage that was struggling, I wanted her to experience joy and the fullness of life that I thought she deserved. Selfishly, I needed her here. My kids needed to know her love as their grandma because there would be nothing else like it. She went on to survive cancer, but the journey was an arduous one, and the fear of its return was always tucked away in the back of her mind. She never wanted to endure a cancer journey again. This we did talk about from time to time. We received seventeen extra years: years that would bring about the things of life: Love, saddness, divorce, change, and lastly growth.

If only I had known that day would be her last.

If only I had asked all the questions.

If only I had fully appreciated who she was in life.

If only I could hear that laugh and see her smile again.

If only. . .

If only. . .

If only. . .

Celebrating Warrior Women

 One weekend in June, Mom was invited to celebrate her life and the warrior she is for battling cancer. The hostess, Emily rented out these villas and it was a wonderful weekend of pool time, drinks, and relaxation. Mom invited Suzann and I to join. It was a very generous offer and a meaningful experience to share with my mom.

 These are the warrior women we met and celebrated.

 To life and living it fully present!

 Me, Mom, Suzann

Mom, Emily, Me, Suzann

Hope

As the end of the year approaches, deaths of women around me has been the constant reminder that today is ALL I have.  And what I have is good.  What I have is really enough.  Never have I felt so content in all my life.  Never.  And what a blessing to have this sense of contentment and deep gratitude living inside me. The knowledge and understanding that this life is the only one we are guaranteed. Today is all we are gifted.

So what does it take to recognize the fragility of life if losing Ofie,  Sandra, Jen, or Meg wasn't enough?  These four are just in my personal circle of acquaintances and the truth is there are so many more who have been called home too soon.  And yet still some of us live as if we have all the time in the world. December 27th burns bright in my memory because it is the anniversary of my grandma's death.  Pancreatic cancer ate away at her and she went quickly.  Yet years later, cancer would return to haunt her only daughter at fifty-one and the battle that ensued was life changing and life giving.  Thank God for new treatments and doctors who know their craft to concoct a plan that would ultimately give me more time with my mom. She's nine years cancer free.  Praise be to God!

Earlier this year, a former student of mine succumbed to death weeks after a lung cancer diagnosis.  She was fit and smart, a radiant light snuffed out too soon.  There was such a deep grieving taking place in that church at her funeral.  But as I looked around, I was filled with a sense of hope. I was hopeful her untimely and unfortunate death would speak life giving words into the lives of lost teenagers. They would live their life well because Sandra's life was lost when it was on the brink of new beginnings with graduation looming in her future.

Just weeks ago another acquaintance in her late 30's died from lung cancer.  She was not a smoker.  But she is gone, leaving a husband and two small children to do life without her and it is tragic.  It is untimely.  And I'm mad about it because it just doesn't seem fair.  It isn't.  But it happened and it will keep happening.  We need to be more acutely aware of taking care of ourselves from the inside out--fueling our bodies with real food, nourishing our hearts and souls with the word. . .and being proactive when it comes to our health!  We can not afford not to be!

But no matter what we are going through. . .we must always choose hope.  And that is where Heather Von St. James' story comes in.  Like Sandra and Jen, she too was diagnosed with lung cancer. My woman warrior heart and my mama heart collided when I heard her story. And I knew I had to share it.

When she was 36, just after her first baby, Lily was born, she was diagnosed with mesothelioma, a form of cancer caused by asbestos. People that young aren’t supposed to get mesothelioma, but she did. When she was a girl, she wore her dad’s work coat all the time. It was covered in asbestos from his construction job. People who get mesothelioma aren’t supposed to live for very long. She was told she had 15 months.  Nine years later, holding on to hope, she is still here. Praise be to God! She is using her voice to tell her story, to spread hope and raise awareness about mesothelioma.  

Let's do our part.  Life is fleeting, hang on and live it well.  Live it with eyes wide open that YOU matter and your voice is listened to. Let us be a voice for those who have been silenced by this disease. Let us raise our voices and declare that with hope the odds don't matter!! 

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you HOPE and a future'."--Jeremiah 29:11

Here's to a hopeful 2015 filled with blessings and good health!!!

Catholicism: Confession

This week, this young man received the sacrament of reconciliation at church. The Sacrament of Penance, commonly called Confession, is one of the seven sacraments recognized by the Catholic Church. Catholics believe that all of the sacraments were instituted by Jesus Christ himself. In the case of Confession, that institution occurred on Easter Sunday, when Christ first appeared to the apostles after his Resurrection. Breathing on them, he said: “Receive the Holy Spirit. For those whose sins you forgive, they are forgiven; for those whose sins you retain, they are retained” (John 20:22-23).

My son's experience was such a positive one compared to my own.  I distinctly remember being scared out of my mind to have to tell a priest my sins.  The Type A personality I have, even back then was petrified I would not remember all my since, hence not be forgiven.  My dad was forced to go before me because I was that terrified. The church was so different in those days.  As a Faith Formation teacher, I was encouraged to build excitement and anticipation for the gift of absolution the kids would be receiving.  We practiced examining our consciences together and we talked about sinning and asking God then and there for forgiveness.  I was able to tell them that I look at confession as a gift: a time to talk to a priest, who sometimes may say things that I need to hear.  Hearing his words of absolution soften the sting of my sin and really let me focus on ways as to not sin that way again. . .unless of course if it's something I am really struggling with, then that might be a different story.  And that is okay.

That picture above is so special to me because I had the honor of going to the rectory to get this priest every Friday to escort him into my eighth grade classroom as he answered questions: silly and serious.  He was our pastor and he poured into our lives. He heard my confession on my Engagement Encounter weekend, and I will never forget his words of advice in some areas I was struggling with a particular family member.  His words were balm for a heart in desperate need of repair.  He stood up at the altar on my wedding day and his words spoke to my heart again, as they had so many times before.

He was the man I called when my mom was sick with cancer and I desperately wanted to baptize my son, the same boy who sits before him now.  He performed the baptism at home and then dealt with the aftermath of getting me that ever so important baptismal certificate. . .makes me chuckle.  What a gift this man has played in my life as well as the life of my family.  When I questioned my Catholic faith, he owned up to his own criticisms and how that had gotten him in hot water from time to time.  He listened to me at confession again this week, and it was as if God was sitting before me speaking wisdom, peace, and grace into me.  Just the right words, just the right moment, in the form of the right man--the one who has helped to shape my religious beliefs but more importantly, my relationship with God.

The washing away of sin--such a beautiful lesson my son received this week.  I couldn't have been happier to watch him dress himself with care, get into the car with confidence, and drive to church somewhat quieter than usual.  When I asked if he was nervous, he looked at me as if I was crazy. ""No, mom.  Not at all.  I'm just thinking about my sins."  This boy, with such a generous, compassionate heart has been listening in class.  He was excited for the gift we have been given from such a loving, almighty God.  And I was a part of it.  Catholic sacraments shaping generations to come in a way filled with grace, mercy, and love.  My heart is full.