Welcome to Heaven

I haven't written in such a long time, mostly because my thoughts and feelings tend to be the same these days. I am not as much of a roller coaster anymore, but rather I have found a steady pace. My thoughts are often with Karyssa, who has come out of her coma and is participating in intensive therapy up at the Cleveland Clinic to regain her normal life again. And they are often with my Aunt Polly, wondering if she's met Princess Diana and Mother Theresa yet up in Heaven. But mostly, they are with my mom, wishing nearly every hour of my waking life that I could see her again and trying to heal my heart slowly but surely.

At first, when people told me that "time heals all," I wanted to scream and yell and cry, knowing that all I cared about was turning back time to when my mom was cancer-free. But, believe it or not, as hard as I resisted it, this saying is very, very true. While I am still not the same, and I will probably never be the same, I feel different. Better--no, not yet. But different. I feel like some of the weight has been lifted, and slowly, with every day, it lifts a little more. There are days where all I can do is think of her, but sure enough, those days don't hold as much sadness as they used to. In the back of my mind, though, my thoughts are always with her and if she's missing me like I miss her.

Tonight, however, they are also with someone very special to me. My dear friend at work has had a very similar life to mine, although we are separated in age by several years. I am as old as her oldest daughter, but we get along very well and have bonded over our stories. Like mine, her family has suffered several great losses and has battled cancer over and over. She has lost two children, her husband is a cancer survivor as is her oldest daughter. When I first shared my story with her, we bonded right away as she opened up to me as well. I have been thinking of her a lot lately.

Her 49-year old sister is dying of cancer. They were informed of her diagnosis (and prognosis) just two weeks ago. After becoming incontinent and paralyzed from the waist down, a few tests showed that cancer was wrapped around her lower spine, in most of her organs and originated, they believe, from her lungs. A very rare cancer that occurs in women typically in their 40s.

Her life expectancy at that point was only a few weeks. It has been two weeks since they found out.

She is now on hospice and was sent home with my friend, who is a nurse. I question this choice, and at the same time, I understand it. That struggle between wanting to be there at every second, to savor every last drop while fearing the worst with every minute that passes. I get it.

I wanted to be by my mom's side at all times, knowing full well that what I was seeing, smelling, hearing...would haunt me forever.

I do not want this for Cheryl. She has had enough. Why is this happening to her again?

Sometimes, and many times, I wonder who came up with the saying "God only gives you what you can handle." How many times can you suffer these types of things before you break? Are we supposed to be pushed to our breaking point? Who is in control of all of this, and does He actually know what our breaking points are? Or is it all just a guessing game?

When do we get to hold up our white flags and surrender? Is that even an option?

I am very sad for my friend tonight, especially after seeing her today for the first time in two weeks. Two weeks ago, we went to a friend's wedding from work as "dates," laughing and having fun together, not knowing that in just several days her whole life would change and she would receive the news that her sister was dying of cancer. Today, she tried to be brave and come in to work. She lasted a couple of hours and went home. She was crying a lot, and her face was all red and she looked so different. Cheryl is usually very bubbly and such a joy to be around, and today, she didn't even feel like the same person. She is so sad. It was very hard to see her like that.

After many unreturned phone calls and much worrying, I was so excited to see her today that I wrapped my arms around her and held on really tight. She cried and apologized for not calling me back: "I'm too afraid to call you because I don't want to upset you. This is too close to home for you."

Good Lord. Who worries about someone else besides themselves and their family at a time like this? Cheryl. She would. I couldn't believe it. I just hugged her a little more and told her not to worry, that I just wanted to check up on her and she didn't have to call back if she didn't want to.

I do wish she would call me though. I can identify, and while other people would struggle with what to say, I know how it feels, and I get it. But I understand, because I didn't want to talk to anyone either.

My only hope for her at this point is that her sister goes to Heaven in the most comfortable, painless way and that she is welcomed safely by members of her family who have passed before her. I hope that when this time comes, she is surrounded by her loved ones, especially Cheryl, and that she is not scared. I am sure, at such a young age, there are many things she has not done in her life that she would like to do, but for the things she has accomplished, I hope that she enjoyed them and will never forget them up until her last breath.

Even though my mom and my Aunt Polly have never met Cheryl's sister, I like to think they are hearing my prayers to them...my request to welcome her safely and lovingly into Heaven. If her sister is even one ounce of all the amazing things Cheryl is, she deserves to be welcomed in such a way. Thinking of this brings a little smile to my face, knowing how unbelievably different my mom and Aunt Polly were and their "styles" for showing someone around Heaven. I can see my mom take Cheryl's sister by the hand and calmly and quietly explain to her what's happening and where she is and that she shouldn't be scared. I can almost hear her voice as she says, "There is nothing to be afraid of Honey. It's all over now."

Then I think of my Aunt Polly, who would probably be a little tired of my mom's "sugar coated" version and she would cut straight to the point: "Listen. You're not in pain anymore. You're in Heaven now. I know it's tough to be away from your family, and you are going to miss them, but you will see them again, ok? I promise. You wanna go meet Elvis?"

I can totally picture it. And I hope this is how it happens for me too.