Moving on: Baby Steps

These past few months have been completely, 100% total insanity. I can tell you of the millions of events that happened while we were trying to be a family supporting a person that was dying. Because, as I have learned, life is not extra kind or concerned with the things it continues to innundate you with...regardless of whether or not you are going through a hard time. My Dad had a house fire, and was displaced from his home as things are being repaired. Bryan and I decided to move our family to a smaller home in town. My sister, who is pregnant and who lives in the UK was in the process of moving herself, somewhat unexpectedly. Not to mention, the perpetual sickness that seems to be sticking around. Our flu like symptoms, sinus and bronchial infections. Gabriel, Samuel, and Marin having the chicken pox...Griffin getting pneumonia. And the day that mom died, I woke up from a grief induced snooze to realize I was coming down with something myself...and Dad is just now getting over it. And really, this was just the tip of the iceberg. Complete insanity.

I have been really easily surprised lately. I haven't had much time to spend looking in the mirror as this storm has been brewing around us. But when I happen to pass by, or it is unavoidable as I get out of the shower, I expect to see the outside of me reflect the inside of me. I am confused for a second why my face is not bruised and battered. Why there are not seeping wounds all over my arms and legs. Why my feet and hands are still in tact, when I feel like sometimes they can't be forced to move. Why my chest is not ripped open, and exposing the broken heart that is inside my chest, beating irregularly with little promise that it knows how to keep going. Why I don't look as broken on the outside as I do on the inside.

Because, you see....this is just a part of the journey for us, for my family. This has been the worst time in my life, that I can think of. Nobody else had to experience seeing my mom choke on her own vomit, and look into her scared eyes as she pleaded with the world to please, please allow her one more breath. Nobody had to worry about her psychotic episodes, as she lay dying, unable to drink anything and starving to death. And witness her crying out for someone to help her. There was no one who had to tell her that they didn't know how to make it better. Nobody had to sit, and watch, and wonder if her "time" would come when the two of us were alone. No one had to make the decision to force her to die, and drug her with morphine so the physical task of passing would be as comfortable as possible. Nobody but me and my sister and my Dad. THIS...is mother fuckin real, people. REAL, real. How can you go a lifetime, knowing someone, and then in a matter of a few months, have it taken away? Right now, none of it makes sense...and a lof of the time we end up feeling lost.
There are people in our lives that chose not to be there for my mom.... and people likewise, who have chosen not to support the three of us that remain. And, for those people, I feel a great sadness. First, because I feel like my mom's struggle was worth the time and effort that any healthy person could muster. My mom was special, and she deserved more. But mainly becuase I am certain they missed out. My great friend said tonight, "What good can the good bring, when you don't allow yourself to experience the bad?"

And isn't that one of the most simple truths we have in this thing called life? I mean, yes. It was a long process, and one that was not thrust upon us unexpectedly. But, I am one among many, now, that has watched a person die. And while that is a really daunting and sad experience....I also know that it was not in vain.

When you are forced to be a part of the circle of life... things change. I am no longer living my existence the same way that I was a few months ago. The wise universe has given me the precious experience of watching life come into the world. And now I have to go on, knowing what the end is like as well. But, here is what I have learned. You have to either decide to be angry and bitter...or you decide to live your life in a better, more productive and loving way.

There were many people who were saddened by the time of year that we lost mom. In fact, we have had many people tell us that they can empathize, and how certain holidays are just not the same anymore because of a similar experience. We could have chosen an outlook parallel to that. To be mad and resentful. Made the decision final, that forever more Christmas would suck. Picture ourselves a year from now, holed up inside our dark bedrooms, drinking senselessly as the tears come and the horrible memories of her end come flooding in. But, if there is anything that we have learned from having this awful disease be a part of our daily routines, it is that we must not lie down and give in. We can't live life the way HD would have us live, because that is not living at all. Instead, we have to live our days in SPITE of HD...

So for us, while it was still terribly difficult to know she was leaving, we chose to see the positive in the time she picked to make her way to the next life. The Holidays and December were her absolute favorite time of the year, and so it was easy to understand that of COURSE she was waiting until this special time in Heaven. She didn't want to part ways with the earthly beings she loved so much, and so she stayed as long as she could. But she was also REFUSING not to be in her Heaven for the yearly birthday party that she was finally going to get to see with her own eyes. And, even though this Christmas was incredibly bitter sweet, and chaotic, and insurmountably sad.... Cindy and Dad and I made a promise to mom. We told her that from here on out, we would not dwell on the hurtful things these next holiday seasons, as we continue to live and grow. Instead, beginning next Christmas, we will have a huge, ALL-OUT celebration. Sing her favorite carols, and bake her cookie recipes. Give our friends her cranberry bread like she loved to do. To make it abundantly clear to our children, that Gram always made Christmas incredible. We made a pact that we would keep her favorite time of year sacred, and special, and jubilant.

Maybe it's easier for Cindy and I, because despite all of the craziness we have experienced these last 15 years, we have always known, without a doubt that we were loved. We have a solid foundation to work from. But making that choice is not an easy one. It is easy to check out of your life, and permanantely reside in the hall of despair. To think constantly about all of the hard things we have had to endure. But the truth is...we have to go on. Life has given us wonderful and amazing gifts. Gifts that we have no choice but to be thankful for. Gifts that we will enjoy, in spite of the hardships we still have to face. We have to take those little baby steps that come after times like these. Each day, putting our hearts back together piece by piece as best we can....and also with the knowledge that it will never look or function the same as it did "before." We have to keep moving with the ebb and flow, taking in the good as we learn how to live with our heartache.

This is the gift my mom gave us. And this is the gift we have to implement for ourselves, to teach our children.... Because this line of tragedy continues. It makes up a part of who I am. And it's a part of each one of my children and those who love me. But also because life is never going to just bring the good. We MUST choose the positive, we must. And when the bad presents again to rear it's ugly head, we will be that much more strong and prepared. If we never allow ourselves to be present in the deepest, gloomiest times that come... then we never know how truly beautiful the light is when the darnkess fades.