Diagnosis day aka the day we busted

When April 29 comes around, the countdown of days begins in my head. April 29, 2014 was the day that Mom and I were headed to Disneyland to meet up with my brother, sister-in-law and niece for a few days of fun. The plan was for her to pick me up from work and we would hit the road. Around noon, I received a text - "Dr called your Dad in to talk about his test results. Not sure if I should go with him or not." We went back and forth a little before the decision was made, "Your Dad said I should just go ahead with our plans. I'll be there to pick you up." Looking back, I wish I had pushed her to make a different decision.

Mom came and picked me up. As we made our way out of town I posted on Facebook, "Disneyland or bust!" I remember the exact point of the road when the phone rang, where we answered the call and my Dad's voice came through the car speakers, "You better come home. I...", he said something that got lost in the cell reception, road noise and maybe the fuzziness of our brains that comes when really bad news is about to be delivered that you really don't want to hear. We looked at each other, neither one of us fully comprehending what was said, and I asked, "What did you say?" My Dad replied, loud and clear, with a irritation in his voice at having to say it again, "I have Leukemia." I'm not sure there was even a second that passed before my Mom was changing lanes to make a U-turn. We busted.

I don't recall what Mom and I talked about in the hour or so it took to get home. I'm not sure we talked much. I remember getting home and sitting on the couch across from my Dad as he recounted the diagnosis, Acute Myeloid Leukemia. He could live 6 months to a year without treatment, or he could try chemotherapy. We talked about those options. We talked about the what-if's. We sat and looked at each other, each of us lost in our own sense of disbelief that this was actually happening. At one point, my Dad looked at me and uttered the words that have become an inside joke between my Mom and me, "If I die, you get my car." I didn't want his car. I had a car. I didn't NEED his car, I needed him. I now own his car.

We decided that I was to continue the journey that my Mom and I had started earlier that day, and head to Disneyland, more specifically, to go be with my Brother. I picked up the phone and made the call, sharing news that would forever alter the trajectory of our family. 34 days later, he was the one telling me news that forever altered our family. 

That weekend was when Disneyland became my refuge, a place to escape, to be happy, even though I was really, really sad. I had a few hours alone one day, my first solo experience in Disneyland, and just walked through the parks, watching families enjoy the magic that is Disneyland. I welcomed the laughter and the joy. I left the reality of what was happening at the gates, and immersed myself in the Happiest Place on Earth. People ask me, all the time, why I go to Disneyland so much. It's my refuge.

My Dad chose chemotherapy. He took a gamble and got 34 days. He went out on his terms. April 29 - Diagnosis day, aka the day we busted. It comes around every year and the countdown starts in my head.

A post about the friend who knew...

Somewhere along the road of grief there is an expectation that you will just "get over it" and move on. It's not that people think you have to forget that you have lost someone, but that grief has a time limit. Once you have hit the time limit, then they move on...and so should you.

I was blessed to have a friend who knew, from her own experience, that grief did not have a time limit. We met for dinner once every other month and those dinners were a lifeline for me. We would talk about grief, work, church and politics...a lot of politics...and pretty much anything that was on our hearts at the moment. Two hours would pass in an instant and I would leave knowing, once again, I was not alone in the world. My friend never once told me to "get over it" or served up platitudes about grief. She allowed me to be me, without judgement or expectation.

We met up in September for dinner. It had been a lot longer between dinners, as she was now fighting her own battle with cancer. We laughed and talked about everything we could possibly jam into two hours. It was so, so lovely. The next day a text arrived from her son, she had been hospitalized with pneumonia. For the next couple of months there would be an update every few weeks with glimmers of hope for healing and more dinners together, but in my heart I knew the ending to the story. She died on Christmas Eve.

So grief began anew. Only this time, the person who I could rely on to understand that grief never ended was the one I was grieving.

In my email inbox are pages of emails from my friend. Many are about her cancer fight but tucked in among those are emails of understanding, commiseration and hope. I delete emails all around them, but all of her emails remain. They bring me comfort, as well as tears of grief. I'm not ready to let go of them...and I know she understands.

I miss my friend.

A post about turning a corner

When I turned the corner it was noticeable...at least to me. Others may not have caught on but all of a sudden I went from feeling like there was no hope anywhere to feeling peaceful. Not happy, still quick to tears, still finding it hard to believe that this isn't all a really bad dream...but better. I'd been waiting for better.

Grief is an individual state of being. We all go through the highs and lows at different times. I can move from laughter to tears without even blinking.  Being the private person I am, I tend to not want to share everything with everybody all the time. I've drifted off into a corner by myself, needing to work through the emotions, the waves of regrets and sadness, the misty-eyed bittersweet memories, the unconscionable pain of missing my Dad...my friend. There are some who have understood that need to curl up by myself and allow the emotions to play. There are some who haven't understood at all.

What I have learned about grief, that I knew but didn't know, was how much of an individual process it truly is, how long it can take to feel semi-okay again and how some people just don't get it. My favorite question came from a friend who asked, just 20 days after my Dad died, "So, are you over it yet?" I didn't take offense. My filter was not on and I laughed at him and told him, no, I would never be over it.  He couldn't relate at the time. Unfortunately, he can relate now.

The journey of grief that I continue to traverse is filled with highs and lows, ups and downs and unexpected turns. My Mom and I are remodeling the kitchen, which means all the cabinets that my Dad built are being removed. I didn't think about it until my Uncle came over to look at the kitchen floor and made a comment about how well the cabinets were built. He left and I broke down. Taking those cabinets means letting go of another piece of my Dad. I was sharing that story with a friend and she looked at me and said "but there are still so many things in the house that your Dad built!". She didn't get it. It doesn't matter how much is still left, every little piece I let go hurts. It's another acknowledgement that he is never coming back. (The kitchen is still being remodeled...my Uncle is taking the cabinets.)

So, on it goes. The ups and the downs, the laughter and the tears. The sweet memories and the regrets. Old kitchen cabinets are removed, new cabinets are brought in and time moves on.and grief remains.

A post about new beginnings

This morning I went to a new-to-me church.  I've been struggling with church attendance for awhile now.  I really like the pastor at the church I've been attending.  I like the people.  I've had a really hard time with the music.  Music, for me, is an essential piece of church worship.  God speaks to me through music.  While I can hear God through both "traditional" and "contemporary" music, I prefer the latter.  Organ music doesn't do much for me, most of the time, and I really, really have a hard time when the music leader feels the need to explain how to worship or the meaning behind every song before allowing the words and music to speak.  I just want to sing...so when I started being intentionally late to church to avoid the music, I knew there was a problem.  A big problem.

A week ago, I went to church for the first time in a month.  I was either out of town or had something happening on Sunday that kept me home the entire Advent season.  We didn't even make it to the Christmas Eve service...side note/question, what happened to the late night Christmas Eve services?  I may have to create my own next year.  So going back to church last Sunday I was ready and hopeful.  I left church knowing it was time to find someplace where my musical soul could be filled again.

Which brings me to today and the new-to-me church.  A former Youth Minister friend is the Pastor of the church.  It meets in a local restaurant, which on Saturday nights and some Sunday afternoons can be frequented by motorcycle groups.  I went alone (which is a big deal), with two simple hopes, to feel welcomed and to begin to find God again through music.  Check and check.

I'm not sure that I'm completely ready to let go of the church I've been attending but I can safely say, I am definitely going back to the new-to-me church again.  The fact that it starts later and is only 10 minutes away from home is a big bonus.  But so was the welcome, the songs that began to wash over my soul and the words spoken that gave me a moment to examine the wounds that are still gaping open in my heart.  Today felt like a new beginning...and that is good. 

A post where I don't think about breathing

It's been a week and a half since my doctors visit and a week and a half since I've been on an inhaler daily.  Can I just say wow.  Wow, wow, wow.  I realized just a few minutes ago that my chest hasn't been tight all day long.

I'm so used to waking up in the middle of the night trying to catch my breath or listening to the sound of my chest rattling or the incessant wheezing.  This was definitely a good move.  I've been up and down the stairs at home all day and not once have I been out of breath.  Hallelujah.

So, not thinking about breathing has me thinking about a lot of different things.  The number one thought has been about the future.  I feel like there should be an echo there.  The future...future...future...future.  I'm more and more convinced the job I currently hold is not the job I want to stay in the rest of my life.  I know, without a doubt, there is more church work for me in the future.  I know, as easily as I breathe these days, that I was made to be a part of the church and most likely employed by a church.  What that role might be, I still have no idea, though other people are quick to tell me what role they envision me in...yeah, I don't see it but I could still have blinders on.

I do know that God is moving and working in my life, despite me.  I do know I made the right choice a year ago to leave my comfort zone and leap off the cliff, so to speak.  That is enough for now.

A post about music

For the first time in months, I pulled my guitar out of the case tonight.  It's been sitting at the foot of my bed for a few weeks, was propped up against the wall before that and did actually get used in December, January and February.  It's just sat, though, for the better part of these last 10 months.  I haven't really wanted to pull the guitar out of the case.  As much as music is a huge part of my connection with God, I just couldn't bring myself to play.  I didn't WANT to play.  I was tired of worship music and grieving leaving a team of people behind that helped me reach God through music on a weekly basis.

The journey of healing, of letting go of the past and looking toward the future has been a tough one on my music oriented soul.  I miss so much of what was and haven't quite found what is yet to be, that place where my soul, music and God meet.  I've had glimpses and moments of connecting, but nothing lasting.  Yet, the healing has begun.

Tomorrow night, I will walk into a church with my guitar, step up to a microphone and prepare with a group of people to lead a congregation in music on Sunday.  I wish, I wish, I could say I am excited but the fog of apathy I've been walking around with when it comes to church for a long time remains.  I'm praying, just for a day, that the fog lifts, that I'll actually feel the connection with God again in worship leadership.  I'm praying I didn't just say yes out of ego or the need for kudos.  I'm praying this was a God lead decision and will be a God lead time.  I'm praying...