the passing of time

Each year on December 18 I am reminded about how much of my life has passed and how much my grandmother has missed. Growing up my grandmother was my savior amongst my family. She was my safe place. She was often the only thing that made any sense in my life.

She left this world 1 week before Christmas and the day after my 15th birthday. We said our final goodbye 4 days before Christmas, on a Saturday.

There are times in which we take what may seem ordinary and allow it to mean something more. Each Saturday for several years before she left us was spent helping her clean her house, taking her shopping, and just being with her. Every Saturday, just like clock work, we visited and did what we could to help.

That final Saturday I said goodbye to a woman who was my best friend.

I watched this woman go from being able to race me to the mailbox as a young child to a person who spent most of her days having dialysis and visiting any number of doctors. She had a fighter's spirit. She had already survived cancer that should have killed her. It was the treatment for that cancer that led to so many other health issues, and what eventually killed her.

I never heard her complain the times I sat with her in the hospital or during dialysis. The only thing I remember her ever saying about any of it was that she felt she was being punished.

I could never understand why she felt that way, I couldn't imagine this woman doing anything to be punished for yet she was very religious and in her mind it had more meaning.

I owe my "country" upbringing to her. She would show, teach, involve me in almost anything that she had to do. I helped build fences, I helped move cattle, I helped put up hay, I picked lots of fruit, I helped cook, and a few times she even took me with her when she hunted.

She was the best of both worlds in my opinion. She was womanly and yet never afraid of getting dirty to get something accomplished. She wore dresses each day but when farm work called she simply put a pair of jeans on under her dress and went about her tasks. She loved jewelry, perfume, and fixing her hair.

She was stern but very kind. She had a clear definition of right and wrong and wasn't afraid to redirect my actions with a fly swatter to the behind. One day out of fear of the smack I ran out and around the house. Without a moments hesitation she was out the door chasing after me. I don't remember getting punished but I clearly remember her chasing after me.

She, even sick, would venture out to support my basketball playing or achievements in education. She had the profound ability to "show up" which was something that was missing in many parts of my life. I was always overjoyed to see her, never embarrassed. I wanted to spend each day with her and would look for excuses to stay with her.

She was a true matriarch who managed to get all of us together several times throughout the year. Each year her 3 children and their families would pack ourselves in her small livingroom and share Christmas Eve. It is one of my most cherished memories. The 14 of us would exchange gifts, laugh, eat, and act as if there was no where else to be.

She would read the Christmas story from the bible and my uncles would encourage us kids about hearing Santa's sleigh. We left that house knowing we were loved and wanted.

I'm sad to say we don't do that anymore, haven't since she left us. She had been the glue that bound us all together. She was the reason we were able to work through disagreements and put aside our anger and make sure we showed up...we showed up for her.

I have as of today lived half of my life without her. I have graduated high school, college, gotten married, and had 4 children in these past 15 years, all without her being there. If I think about it too long I am overwhelmed that life has just continued without her. I will forever be saddened by the fact my husband and children never knew her. I've lost the sound of her voice, her smell, and have been unable to find a single picture of just she and I.

It often feels that as the years have passed her ability to exist in my memories has faded. My fear is that with the passing of this time I will forget her and so each year I find myself clinging to the memories shared with her, both good and bad.

I only hope is that as my children grow up they can know of her and what she meant to me. That I do well to pass along the wisdom she imparted, her kindness, and her ability to have an opinion that wasn't always popular and remain unafraid to speak her mind.

Today is always in some way a very sad day but I'm very relieved to know she is no longer suffering, that she is finally at peace and no more need to be so strong just to survive.

I guess it's very simple. I loved my grandmother very much and now she's gone which is very sad, but I will never forget how she treated and loved me. She remains an example of love and care and I miss her.

In memory...

Today is my Aunt Frances' birthday. My earliest memory of her was when I was 5. She was one of my kindergarden teachers so I was rather confused if I was to call her Mrs. Reed or Aunt Frances during school. One day, while playing at her house we had a discussion about my confusion. I remember her laughing and saying she would always be my aunt but maybe during class it would be better to call her Mrs. Reed. I still remember that laugh even now.

Another thing I loved about my Aunt was her ability to sing. She shined during those moments. I remember attending church the days she would sing and I would beam with pride because she was my family, I had the privilege of calling her Aunt.

She was one of the toughest people I've ever met and she had no problem sharing what she thought. She shined so brightly and left us all too soon.

I didn't know her as well as so many other friends and family. But, I loved her dearly and miss her terribly. In honor of my Aunt's courageous fight I bring you a blog from Heather . You can visit her blog by clicking on her name.

She is a wife, mother, and a courageous survivor of mesothelioma cancer. She also agreed to allow me to post a guest blog from her. So please take a moment and meet Heather and check out her blog.

Sometimes healing moments come when we least expect them. They can just fall into our laps and help us cope with difficulties and the loss of loved ones. Thank you Heather for sharing your story and I send you health, hope, and happiness.

Happy birthday Aunt Frances. I love you, I miss you, and I hope you're still laughing and singing.

"It takes a village"

When you have a baby, many times you hear the phrase, “It takes a village to raise a child.” Over the years, I have come to realize how true that really is. My story brings home the point that parenting is not meant to be done in a vacuum. Everyone talks about being “strong, independent women,” but sometimes, being strong and independent means realizing when you have to call in help, that you can’t always be everything and do everything for your child. I never thought I would have to lean so heavily on those around me. But I am ever thankful that through my struggles, I had that village surrounding me, embracing me and my child, and doing for her what I could not do myself.

I’ve always been a strong and independent woman. Before my baby was born, I was a part owner of a large, successful salon company and personally ran one of the three salons in the business. In addition to working behind a chair myself, I managed over twenty employees. I was healthy, energetic, and active.

This was my life, up until the day I gave birth to my baby girl, Lily. She was born August 4, 2005. Since my pregnancy was so uneventful, I expected to pop back into my old routine without a problem. I returned to work a few weeks after Lily’s birth.

However, within a month of my return, I was constantly tired and breathless, and began losing weight. I figured this was normal, since most new mothers feel exhausted and lose weight. But soon my weight loss reached an extreme level. I was losing an astonishing five to seven pounds a week.

After some medical tests, I learned that I had fluid around my lung. After more tests, to my utter and complete shock, I was diagnosed with a cancer called mesothelioma, caused by asbestos exposure in my childhood. This diagnosis came November 21, 2005 when my daughter was only three and a half months old.

My first thought was for my daughter. Would she miss out on having a mother? Would my husband have to raise her without me? Would there always be a big hole in her life where I used to be? I knew then that I was going to have to do whatever was necessary to beat this diagnosis.

I flew to Boston where I had an extrapleural pneumenectomy, a surgery that removed my left lung, all the surrounding tissue, lymph nodes, diaphragm on the left side, the lining of my heart and one of my ribs. I also had a heated chemotherapy wash to further eradicate any cancer. Two and a half months after my surgery, I began chemotherapy and radiation.

During those early months of my baby’s life, I began to see the blessing of the “village.” My parents in their South Dakota home cared for my daughter while I was fighting cancer across the country. People I had known as a teen offered their support and time to assist my mom and dad who were juggling their jobs and “parenting” their brand new granddaughter. The “village” loved me from afar by feeding my baby and loving her while I was in distant Boston struggling for my life. My only glimpses of how she was growing and changing were grainy pictures e-mailed from my mom to us while we were at the hospital. Missing my daughter was heart wrenching. But I knew that she was in the best hands possible.

Those difficult days changed our whole family. My health keeps me from going back to work, but that is okay. It’s really not that important to me anymore. What is important is family, love, generosity, kindness, and the one constant in it that makes it all work: our faith. Through those hard times we never lost our faith in God and always believed that everything would work out for the best.

Looking back, I can see that my struggle boiled down our lives to the essentials. Because of my struggle, I am raising Lily to value those essentials, and she is growing up to be a valuable part of that “village.”

Lily is six years old now and is growing up to be such a compassionate, caring girl. It warms my heart when I see her willing to donate her old clothes and toys to those in need. She really amazes me. I think that because of everything Lily went through early on in her life, and everyone she depended on to help her and our family, she realizes the need to be kind and has a true sense of the good that helping others can do. Even if she was only an infant at the time of my diagnosis, Lily was affected in ways that have shaped the person she is today. She is my quirky, loving little six year old and she is the reason I am still here today.

Despite the struggle that cancer has brought to my life, I am thankful, for even through my illness, I have found blessings, love, and perspective.

Read more: http://www.mesothelioma.com/blog/authors/heather/#ixzz1fiGxlwln