I tried
to process the declaration, But no words could I say.
We kept a
positive attitude, believing it would all be okay.
In spite
of the threat that it could take your life one day.
You
eventually told me, “They said I may have three years.”
You were
the one comforting me, trying to calm all my fears.
That
discussion was a phone conversation, but you still heard me cry.
I was
asking what everyone else was, the unexplainable question, why?
Surgeries
and chemo were to follow, because that’s what we’re told to do.
None of
us had ever experienced such a thing, it was all something new.
But in a
short period of time, things were discovered that we never knew.
Hours and
days were spent researching, not by a doctor, but by you.
It wasn’t
very long, and your scans showed up clear.
This
continued to happen, year after year.
Those three
years came and went, then four, five and six.
There was
still nothing broken, therefore, nothing to fix.
However,
you took the possible death sentence very seriously,
Living
each and every day with intent and a smile on your face.
In spite
of being faced with such a thing, you were so impressive.
Handling
everything with dignity, poise and grace.
Year
after year everyone held their breath,
When it
came time for the yearly scans.
No one wanted
to hear you talk of your death,
Or that
you had already made your funeral plans.
You asked
me to be a part of those plans, in case they ever came to be.
You said,
“Make sure I look pretty. Do you think you could do that for me?”
I assured
you I would, and I would have it no other way.
But that
I wasn’t ready for you to go, I needed you to stay.
.
You asked
me that when this all started, but asked me again not long ago.
We sat at
my kitchen table, and I wondered, did you already know?
I
questioned how you felt, “Do you really think it will be this way?”
You said, “I am
sure it will. Not today of course, but yes, it will one day.”
I didn’t want
to disagree with you, nor did I want to comply.
I didn’t know
what to say that day, but I decided that I’d try.
“You know
what I think my friend? I think there will come a day …
A day
when you are simply tired, and that will be okay.
No one
can possibly keep up such a fight as this forever, in spite of popular belief.
Perhaps
a time will come when it’s hard to see through the grief.
I cannot
imagine what it has been like for you to fight day in and day out.
Eventually,
anyone would wonder what this life‘s really all about.
Don’t get
me wrong, I want you to fight and stay here as long as you can.
But what
you or I want will not matter in the
Master Plan.
You will
know when you are too tired to continue fighting the fight.
It will
be a matter of ‘have to,’ not simply ‘wrong’ or ‘right.”
Though we
like to think our attitudes and what we do matter so much,
We both
know we cannot control life, death and such.
And
besides, I would have sworn we were at the end last year.
It had
seemingly destroyed your lungs, but look, now they are all clear.”
One may
think these were silly pep talks, but it was really true.
When
there was no way to beat the odds, the rule was broken by you.
We have
all learned that the rules do not always apply.
Time and
time you proved them wrong, and no one knew how or why.
But, that
day when we were talking, your eyes had a yellow tint.
This
should have been a warning flag, or at least a little hint.
Maybe I
just thought you were tired, or the lighting was bad.
Maybe I didn’t
want to say anything that could worry you or make you sad.
That day
was the beginning of the end, little did we know.
It was
just a few days after that a scan would clearly show …
There’s
no need to recap all of that. I couldn’t bear to anyway.
It will still
remain the same, at the end of the day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everything
went just as you planned, and we knew exactly what to do.
We were
all in the room gathered around, lovingly surrounding you.
I can’t
remember if you asked us not to cry … if so, we failed the test.
But we
did try so hard to honor your each and every request.
We
gathered around your children, and shielded them from the bad.
We
comforted one another, your husband, mom and dad.
Though
one would think we may have been ready, that wasn’t really true.
Come to
find out the hard way, there was no preparing for losing you.
I hope
one day to be at peace for the promise I couldn’t keep.
It has
haunted me for many days, waking me from sleep.
Deep down
I know it is okay and other things matter more.
But there
will never be another chance, as there has always been before.
I am sad
that I couldn’t be there to get you ready like I said I would.
Everyone
has told me, and I know, that you certainly understood.
As I
fretted and overthought it, I remembered what we said we’d do.
We
promised we’d stay connected, and that I’d still hear from you.
So as I
sit here writing this, a familiar presence of you filled the air.
You said, “You did
do what I asked you to when you fixed my hair.
Remember,
just moments after it was all over, and Mama spoke to you?
Don’t
forget the ones I needed to look pretty for, my audience of two.”
Yes, I do
remember that moment, though I didn’t see it that way.
The nurse
asked if I wanted her to do it, and I sobbed out, “No, I’m okay.”
Your Mom asked,
“Can you fix her hair so it’s pretty, before the babies come in?”
It was my
last and final chance to brush your hair again.
I brushed
and cried, like I was hurrying, but didn’t want it to end.
How I
love brushing the beautiful, long brunette hair of my lifelong friend.
You
looked like a China doll who was in a peaceful sleep.
The hopes
of making positive memories that your children could keep.
Making
the best out of the worst situation is the way you always wanted it to be.
Thank you
for another powerful lesson that you have again taught to me.
We will always
remember your positive ways, your laugh and sweet smile.
Knowing we
will all be physically apart from you, but it's only for a while.
May 21,
2015
That's beautiful! We love & miss you Crystal
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