lyrics by Eleanor Farjeon
Morning has broken, like the first morning;
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for them springing fresh from the word.
Sweet the rain’s new fall, sunlit from Heaven;
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass.
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where His feet pass.
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning,
Born of the one light Eden saw play.
Praise with elation, praise every morning,
God’s recreation of the new day.
additional lyrics by Izzlebug:
Life in its sweetness draws us toward Heaven
As we are granted every new day.
Praise for renewed life in the fresh garden
Chastens our fears and shows us our way.
Peace beyond presence, peace beyond mourning
Is our true comfort from God above.
Praise for His mercy - hope beyond Heaven
For this sweet earth and all those we love.
Patty continues to struggle with the leukemia and is enduring another several days of chemo in hopes of reducing the leukemia enough to get her through to the transplant; the donor will be available at the beginning of October. Her children continue to try to deal with their Mom's illness and the rest of us try to keep watch over the three of them and each other as we try to find our way through each day. I live my life knowing that miracles do happen but realize such hope is a tightrope between elation and despair with balance difficult to maintain when Patty is often in too much pain or too nauseous from the chemo to even speak on the phone. Yet, hope stubbornly remains and I cling to it, wanting my sister well again.
Please continue in your kind thoughts and prayers for my sister and our family. Such thoughts and prayers mean more than any one of us may ever fully realize.
Izzlebug
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
The Dream
It is so dark, but not cold.
An alive darkness
With form and weight;
The backdrop of all dreams.
I hear my niece screaming, screaming
For her mother.
I go to her, find her,
See her huddled in the blackness,
Crying for her Mom.
Touching her,
Rubbing her back,
Soothing her,
I say,"Let's see if we can find your Mom."
I look up and over there,
In the darkness, too weak from her illness to come to her child,
Is my sister. We go to her.
My niece climbs into her mother's lap
And the humming,
Seemingly tuneless, begins.
Arms around her child,
Bald head bowed protectingly
Over her young daughter,
They cuddle together in the darkness;
A bright beacon of light to me.
I fall back to sleep
Watching my sister and my niece,
Cradled together as one,
Glowing with warmth
Against the pitch blackness,
Comforting one another with love
In the darkness,
Memories of another
Mother and child
Lulling me to sleep.
An alive darkness
With form and weight;
The backdrop of all dreams.
I hear my niece screaming, screaming
For her mother.
I go to her, find her,
See her huddled in the blackness,
Crying for her Mom.
Touching her,
Rubbing her back,
Soothing her,
I say,"Let's see if we can find your Mom."
I look up and over there,
In the darkness, too weak from her illness to come to her child,
Is my sister. We go to her.
My niece climbs into her mother's lap
And the humming,
Seemingly tuneless, begins.
Arms around her child,
Bald head bowed protectingly
Over her young daughter,
They cuddle together in the darkness;
A bright beacon of light to me.
I fall back to sleep
Watching my sister and my niece,
Cradled together as one,
Glowing with warmth
Against the pitch blackness,
Comforting one another with love
In the darkness,
Memories of another
Mother and child
Lulling me to sleep.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
What Do I Promise God?
So many times in the past I have read tales of people who have, after having promised God to devote their lives to Him or His works or to accomplish something they have put off for far too long or to do something sufficiently philanthropic as to gain His approval, experienced the answer to their prayers be it some special request granted or some miracle performed either through human agency or in a mysteriously "godly" fashion.
I would really like to believe that some prayer or promise of mine might also garner such a response, especially where it pertains to those I hold very dear. The trouble is not that I do not know what to ask for - right now I want my sister well again and able to go about her life with her children - but what I might possibly be able to guarantee or offer God that might be sufficiently pleasing to the Omnipotence before me to warrant His being willing to grant such a boon. I have been thinking about this a lot and generally consider God's willingness to give me such attentions, as well as the attentions I want for my loved ones, on a par with my chances of winning the state lottery and taking home millions of almost unimaginable dollars.
For me prayer is like a roll of the dice or a spin of the roulette wheel, not always positive and stacked against the pray-er. The pray-ee (God) is the one that holds all the cards and controls the chances, so He is akin to a casino boss in this little fantasy of mine. I do not consider my musings particularly sacrilegious since the apostles played a game of chance when trying to select a replacement for Judas Iscariot after Christ's death and considered it would be the hand of God guiding the end result; nor do I feel any guilt in the purchase of an occasional lottery ticket - I usually buy "quick-pick" tickets in the spirit of "letting God decide," and try to let Him know I have my ticket if He should choose to bless us in such a fashion at the time. I'm not blonde*, after all, and it's good to be prepared ahead of time, if possible.
(* This is a very facetious reference to a very bad "blonde" joke I once heard - and have repeated - but consider it only in fun. Patty, my younger sister, is a blonde and there are very few who can equal her in intelligence, strength and creativity. - I.)
Unfortunately, not everything is as simplistic or innocent as a dollar spent on a lottery ticket, and when you get into trying to express your hopes for those you care deeply for to a seemingly silent entity drifting in the cosmos somewhere you are presently not, it takes on a more threatening feeling, like being caught telling fibs or something equally as embarrassing or humiliating. It seems as if I should be bargaining with God right now for my sister's life but, again, I do not know what to offer in exchange for the miracle of life I long to see my sister receive.
I suppose all a person can do in these circumstances is to let God know they will keep trying - trying to become better people, trying to grow in wisdom and maturity, trying to grow and learn in compassion, kindness, forgiveness, trying to remember the lessons learned from the loved one being prayed for, and so on. I only hope that is enough because that may be all I truly can offer God.
I will keep trying.
I would really like to believe that some prayer or promise of mine might also garner such a response, especially where it pertains to those I hold very dear. The trouble is not that I do not know what to ask for - right now I want my sister well again and able to go about her life with her children - but what I might possibly be able to guarantee or offer God that might be sufficiently pleasing to the Omnipotence before me to warrant His being willing to grant such a boon. I have been thinking about this a lot and generally consider God's willingness to give me such attentions, as well as the attentions I want for my loved ones, on a par with my chances of winning the state lottery and taking home millions of almost unimaginable dollars.
For me prayer is like a roll of the dice or a spin of the roulette wheel, not always positive and stacked against the pray-er. The pray-ee (God) is the one that holds all the cards and controls the chances, so He is akin to a casino boss in this little fantasy of mine. I do not consider my musings particularly sacrilegious since the apostles played a game of chance when trying to select a replacement for Judas Iscariot after Christ's death and considered it would be the hand of God guiding the end result; nor do I feel any guilt in the purchase of an occasional lottery ticket - I usually buy "quick-pick" tickets in the spirit of "letting God decide," and try to let Him know I have my ticket if He should choose to bless us in such a fashion at the time. I'm not blonde*, after all, and it's good to be prepared ahead of time, if possible.
(* This is a very facetious reference to a very bad "blonde" joke I once heard - and have repeated - but consider it only in fun. Patty, my younger sister, is a blonde and there are very few who can equal her in intelligence, strength and creativity. - I.)
Unfortunately, not everything is as simplistic or innocent as a dollar spent on a lottery ticket, and when you get into trying to express your hopes for those you care deeply for to a seemingly silent entity drifting in the cosmos somewhere you are presently not, it takes on a more threatening feeling, like being caught telling fibs or something equally as embarrassing or humiliating. It seems as if I should be bargaining with God right now for my sister's life but, again, I do not know what to offer in exchange for the miracle of life I long to see my sister receive.
I suppose all a person can do in these circumstances is to let God know they will keep trying - trying to become better people, trying to grow in wisdom and maturity, trying to grow and learn in compassion, kindness, forgiveness, trying to remember the lessons learned from the loved one being prayed for, and so on. I only hope that is enough because that may be all I truly can offer God.
I will keep trying.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Parents and Children
The other day we were all gathered at Dana Farber to be there for Patty and Dad as the doctor let us know what, if anything, further can be done to help Patty beat the leukemia. As we waited, along with all of the other families of patients with double-booked appointments, the one thing that I consistently saw throughout the day were all of the parents there with their children. It did not matter whether the "children" were full grown adults, young, old, infants, toddlers, teenagers, or had children of their own; the looks upon the faces of the parents was universally the same - they were all watching as their children fight deadly diseases and some, as their children succumb to those diseases.
Part of their creation, our parents anticipated the births of each of us. Sometimes the father was witness to their child's birth as their mother went through the labor of giving life to each one. Such a moment is the only time in our lives that "normal" is actually seen as being perfect - ten little toes, ten fingers, tiny fingernails, beautiful ears, eyes, and limbs, soft skin with the glow of being just born. That first tiny yawn as the little fist comes up under a tiny chin for the first time in full view of their mom and dad. Parents have loved and cared for each of us, although some have had to make their ways in this world without that love to help them. Our parents have held us, cared for us, taught us and delighted in our being able to learn new things at each step. They hold our hands as long as they possibly can, with only death finally preventing them from being there, forever, for each of us so loved.
From the first moment they knew us, our hands were in theirs. Our tiny fingers grasped their much larger fingers before we even knew we were beings unique and wonderful, at least in the eyes of our parents.
We return to the hospital tomorrow to see the doctor Patty could not see because of all the chaos on Monday. All of us will be there, with those too far away to attend with us present in heart and mind if not in body, and we will be ready to hear what the doctor has to say, maybe. To be there is the only gift we can give at times like this and to stand by the only right thing to do. If any knees buckle with bad news, others of us will be there to catch the sufferer on the way to the floor. Our tears may mingle or we may be given some fresh hope that this disease may not yet have won its deadly battle with my sister's body. Whatever the case, I will be watching our dad; watching him gaze at one of his children who he held in his arms when they were tiny, who he brought that last glass of water at bedtime on so many nights, who he helped teach to walk and talk, whose funny little thoughts and verbal gaffs he faithfully recorded in his diary. He took pictures and movies of each of us; his sense of humor showing through on the film on many occasions; bald headed babies in boxes with pictures of Mr. Clean on them; and each picture, each movie, each memory, will be there in his mind as he listens to what may well be a death sentance for one of his beloved children.
A woman sits watching as her two daughters giggle and laugh together, one with a scarf around a bald head. Another woman tenderly helping her young adult son as he waits in his wheelchair for his turn in the line up of cancer victims. A little beauty in boldly striped jammies with a headband around her hairless pate, grinning up at her mother and father as they get ready to go into the clinic brothers and sisters in tow, and my Dad looking at my sister, quite possibly wishing it was he who was going through this instead of one of his children. Of the four of us, Patty is the one most likely to understand that look, the anguish and the pain, as she prepares to possibly say a far too early "good bye" to her own children, the only grandchildren in our immediate family. I wish I could somehow protect them all from this pain, these moments of impending loss that have haunted us with each step this disease has forced our family to take in directions we would never have chosen to go. It is a frightening thing, yet so simple and human it transcends a description of mere words. A parent is so in essence and not merely because of biology, and this has to be the hardest thing I have ever had to witness: the one who held a tiny hand when the owner was newly born now holding it as their child, their precious infant, faces death. It is a journey I hope fewer and fewer parents will have to make as science and faith continue to work together to overcome this death, this terrible unfolding of nature,this ending to all hope and life.
My Dad once said to me that no parent should have to bury their child. I think I am beginning to understand how he feels.
Part of their creation, our parents anticipated the births of each of us. Sometimes the father was witness to their child's birth as their mother went through the labor of giving life to each one. Such a moment is the only time in our lives that "normal" is actually seen as being perfect - ten little toes, ten fingers, tiny fingernails, beautiful ears, eyes, and limbs, soft skin with the glow of being just born. That first tiny yawn as the little fist comes up under a tiny chin for the first time in full view of their mom and dad. Parents have loved and cared for each of us, although some have had to make their ways in this world without that love to help them. Our parents have held us, cared for us, taught us and delighted in our being able to learn new things at each step. They hold our hands as long as they possibly can, with only death finally preventing them from being there, forever, for each of us so loved.
From the first moment they knew us, our hands were in theirs. Our tiny fingers grasped their much larger fingers before we even knew we were beings unique and wonderful, at least in the eyes of our parents.
We return to the hospital tomorrow to see the doctor Patty could not see because of all the chaos on Monday. All of us will be there, with those too far away to attend with us present in heart and mind if not in body, and we will be ready to hear what the doctor has to say, maybe. To be there is the only gift we can give at times like this and to stand by the only right thing to do. If any knees buckle with bad news, others of us will be there to catch the sufferer on the way to the floor. Our tears may mingle or we may be given some fresh hope that this disease may not yet have won its deadly battle with my sister's body. Whatever the case, I will be watching our dad; watching him gaze at one of his children who he held in his arms when they were tiny, who he brought that last glass of water at bedtime on so many nights, who he helped teach to walk and talk, whose funny little thoughts and verbal gaffs he faithfully recorded in his diary. He took pictures and movies of each of us; his sense of humor showing through on the film on many occasions; bald headed babies in boxes with pictures of Mr. Clean on them; and each picture, each movie, each memory, will be there in his mind as he listens to what may well be a death sentance for one of his beloved children.
A woman sits watching as her two daughters giggle and laugh together, one with a scarf around a bald head. Another woman tenderly helping her young adult son as he waits in his wheelchair for his turn in the line up of cancer victims. A little beauty in boldly striped jammies with a headband around her hairless pate, grinning up at her mother and father as they get ready to go into the clinic brothers and sisters in tow, and my Dad looking at my sister, quite possibly wishing it was he who was going through this instead of one of his children. Of the four of us, Patty is the one most likely to understand that look, the anguish and the pain, as she prepares to possibly say a far too early "good bye" to her own children, the only grandchildren in our immediate family. I wish I could somehow protect them all from this pain, these moments of impending loss that have haunted us with each step this disease has forced our family to take in directions we would never have chosen to go. It is a frightening thing, yet so simple and human it transcends a description of mere words. A parent is so in essence and not merely because of biology, and this has to be the hardest thing I have ever had to witness: the one who held a tiny hand when the owner was newly born now holding it as their child, their precious infant, faces death. It is a journey I hope fewer and fewer parents will have to make as science and faith continue to work together to overcome this death, this terrible unfolding of nature,this ending to all hope and life.
My Dad once said to me that no parent should have to bury their child. I think I am beginning to understand how he feels.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
What Will The Postmark On This One Say?
Like a thief in the night
Entering unbidden, unwelcome, unwanted,
Under inky-wisp clouds creeping across a frozen,
secret moon.
Keeping little bits and pieces of our time,
Each precious moment gone, a shattered diamond; sand -
Making a desert where a garden needs to grow.
I saw a barren waste, glittering and sterile,
After my sister called.
Dear Mom,
As I mentioned in my prior letter, Patty is not doing too well. It is nearing either the end or a reprieve there is not a very good chance of having happen at this point, according to the doctors estimates. We have definitely not given up hope, but there is a letting go that seems to be taking place; a release of some emotional tether, of sorts, that has us preparing to say "Good-bye" or "Thank God!" Either way, the way is difficult for all of us right now, but especially for Patty.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
Forever is too long a time to wait
for heart's release. Old love will find its new dawn.
Dad and his "new" wife have been great. I think you would be glad to know how much time and energy she has put into helping Patty and the kids. She has also been very good to Mike, as well. Our step-mom is a real trooper and she loves Dad so much I am almost afraid for them, but they are both (especially Dad!) in good health and remaining very active, although I know trying to help raise another brood of young'uns was not something they anticipated when they met and married. Despite all of the love and support, I still miss you. It feels strange to not have you here while Patty goes through all of these terrible moments and bad news.
I know within Life's ebb and flow we long
to speak, to touch, to see; so we await.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
As the day for the transplant preparations looms nearer (we hope) there is a growing sense within me of wanting to be by Patty's side as much as possible, even if it's just to hold her hand or get her some ice. Mom, when she goes through the full body radiation that will kill her own ability to produce any kind of blood cells at all, please be in there with her. You are the only one of us who could be there beside her while the radiation is putting her into a point of no return if the transplant does not take hold. This is probably the most frightening part - they cannot do the transplant without poisoning her entire body with excessive radiation but they also cannot guarantee the transplant will take hold either. If things do not work out, please expect Patty to join you about two weeks from the day she is irradiated, the two of you will have to celebrate Brad's birthday there (where ever "there" is) together, while we try to pick up the pieces on this end.
Sometimes I tremble, like some woodland fawn,
because my child-heart grieves for mother late;
for heart's release. Old love will find its new dawn.
I really wish I could talk to you about all of this and you could reply in a conversational mode. Heartaches and intuition do not quite do the trick right now and you are missed with each day that passes as we all deal with these things with and for Patty.
So much to say with chances come and gone.
My heart's yearnings will not soon abate.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
All of our "I love yous" have been said; they are repeated as often as possible whenever we talk. Patty has Sue's hand to hold right now, but I do not know how long she will be up here and Arizona is a long way away. I also worry about your only two grandchildren. How will they make it without their mom to be there as they grow up? Two fat old aunties and a schizophrenic uncle may have their places in the lives of these children, but as we already know, no one can ever replace your own best Mom.
Why does loss release Love's poignant song?
In life, so much is held and said too late
for heart's release. Old love will find its new dawn.
I hope you are well and enjoying yourself. I have pictured you having tea with your mother, Sissy, and Emily Dickenson as I assume such things are possible in the realm you are now inhabiting. I hope to see you again, Mom, but not too soon. OK?
And so Life moves forever on and on.
For sweet reunion we with patience wait.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
For heart's release, old love will find its new dawn.
Love, Liz
Entering unbidden, unwelcome, unwanted,
Under inky-wisp clouds creeping across a frozen,
secret moon.
Keeping little bits and pieces of our time,
Each precious moment gone, a shattered diamond; sand -
Making a desert where a garden needs to grow.
I saw a barren waste, glittering and sterile,
After my sister called.
Dear Mom,
As I mentioned in my prior letter, Patty is not doing too well. It is nearing either the end or a reprieve there is not a very good chance of having happen at this point, according to the doctors estimates. We have definitely not given up hope, but there is a letting go that seems to be taking place; a release of some emotional tether, of sorts, that has us preparing to say "Good-bye" or "Thank God!" Either way, the way is difficult for all of us right now, but especially for Patty.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
Forever is too long a time to wait
for heart's release. Old love will find its new dawn.
Dad and his "new" wife have been great. I think you would be glad to know how much time and energy she has put into helping Patty and the kids. She has also been very good to Mike, as well. Our step-mom is a real trooper and she loves Dad so much I am almost afraid for them, but they are both (especially Dad!) in good health and remaining very active, although I know trying to help raise another brood of young'uns was not something they anticipated when they met and married. Despite all of the love and support, I still miss you. It feels strange to not have you here while Patty goes through all of these terrible moments and bad news.
I know within Life's ebb and flow we long
to speak, to touch, to see; so we await.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
As the day for the transplant preparations looms nearer (we hope) there is a growing sense within me of wanting to be by Patty's side as much as possible, even if it's just to hold her hand or get her some ice. Mom, when she goes through the full body radiation that will kill her own ability to produce any kind of blood cells at all, please be in there with her. You are the only one of us who could be there beside her while the radiation is putting her into a point of no return if the transplant does not take hold. This is probably the most frightening part - they cannot do the transplant without poisoning her entire body with excessive radiation but they also cannot guarantee the transplant will take hold either. If things do not work out, please expect Patty to join you about two weeks from the day she is irradiated, the two of you will have to celebrate Brad's birthday there (where ever "there" is) together, while we try to pick up the pieces on this end.
Sometimes I tremble, like some woodland fawn,
because my child-heart grieves for mother late;
for heart's release. Old love will find its new dawn.
I really wish I could talk to you about all of this and you could reply in a conversational mode. Heartaches and intuition do not quite do the trick right now and you are missed with each day that passes as we all deal with these things with and for Patty.
So much to say with chances come and gone.
My heart's yearnings will not soon abate.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
All of our "I love yous" have been said; they are repeated as often as possible whenever we talk. Patty has Sue's hand to hold right now, but I do not know how long she will be up here and Arizona is a long way away. I also worry about your only two grandchildren. How will they make it without their mom to be there as they grow up? Two fat old aunties and a schizophrenic uncle may have their places in the lives of these children, but as we already know, no one can ever replace your own best Mom.
Why does loss release Love's poignant song?
In life, so much is held and said too late
for heart's release. Old love will find its new dawn.
I hope you are well and enjoying yourself. I have pictured you having tea with your mother, Sissy, and Emily Dickenson as I assume such things are possible in the realm you are now inhabiting. I hope to see you again, Mom, but not too soon. OK?
And so Life moves forever on and on.
For sweet reunion we with patience wait.
There's still so much to tell you even though you're gone.
For heart's release, old love will find its new dawn.
Love, Liz
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Crying Forever Is Just Another Thing To Get Done Today
TODAY
(Randy Sparks)
Today while the blossom still clings to the vine
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joys that are mine today
I'll be a dandy and I'll be a rover
You'll know who I am by the song that I sing
I'll feast at your table, I'll lie in your clover
I'll laugh and I'll cry and I'll sing
Today while the blossom still clings to the vine
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joys that are mine today
I can't be contented with yesterday's glories
I can't live on promises winter to spring
This is my moment and now is my story
Who cares what tomorrow will bring
Today while the blossom still clings to the vine
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joys that are mine today
There have been many times of grief and stress for our family over the past few years, and during those times I have felt very strongly that I have been somehow gifted with the memories of certain songs. When our Dad had to undergo open heart surgery “Morning Has Broken” was my comfort as I drove the distances between home and hospital. When my Mom was dying, I had three lullabies; “Stille Nacht,” “All Through the Night,” and “Edelweiss.” I do not recall any particular comfort song while my Dad battled breast cancer surgery and the chemo and radiation treatments that it necessitated, but it is likely there was one. And now, with my sister dying of leukemia, with little hope given for the success of a bone marrow transplant, I have been finding comfort in the song transcribed above, though I am not sure why yet.
I realize now that “Morning Has Broken” was a song of genuine hope and simple faith. The three lullabies were the one my grandmother sang to my Mom when she was young, the lullaby I heard my mother sing to me, and the song my sister, Patty, used to sing to her two children when they were small enough to still be comforted by such things. Patty’s two children are my parents’ only grandchildren. I do not question that the songs are comforting, and that is the purpose they serve for me during times such as this, but it is still a little puzzling as to what the actual significance of my needing them or thinking of them may be. I do not worry about it, just wonder a bit sometimes.
Patty may only have a few more weeks to live. Her last bone marrow biopsy revealed an 80% concentration of leukemic cells in the marrow, and her only recourse is to be rushed into the transplant, although the chances of her survival are very slim even with the procedure. I was crying as I drove home from her daughter’s 10th birthday party tonight. I do not want my sister to die.
As I drove home it was as though my heart was pouring itself out with each tear, but in spite of a very real and profound grief the writer in me was whispering “Don’t do this now! It’s too good to just throw away in the car and you know you might not remember most of it by the time you get to the keyboard!” I will try to recall what my mouthy ego was so concerned about, but I will probably end up crying as I type, in order to pass at least some of those incredible thoughts on to those reading my blog.
Although I have received compliments on my reflective writing in the past, most of that writing has been the result of pain, anger and grief and I honestly wish I had not had so much about those subjects to convey. In the midst of the first waves of sadness, anger, and fear I feel as though I am screaming into an echoing void that sends my pain back in a silence so profound those screams become a physical entity with life of their own. Like slow, sad waves breaking upon a desolate and gray sand somewhere in time, harsh in the light of day but gentle in the weakness that flows from such emotion, the funereal melody of the water embodies itself in those same screams; echoing, always echoing, slipping and patting the shores of my emotions with an endless litany of broken hopes and pain. Even my anger has somehow mellowed or degenerated into something quiet, weaker than it used to be, perhaps because there is no one except God to be angry with right now.
All of my frantic fumblings, wondering if I might somehow discover a way to bargain with God for my sister’s life, have come to an end – what could I possibly offer such omnipotence; what promises could I even begin to make, that would convince a God of stone to take pity on this small and aching family; on my poor sister and her children?
As Patty stroked the cats who took turns resting on her lap this evening, as she celebrated her daughter’s birthday, as she looked at her son and each one of the rest of us in turn, I felt she was trying to begin saying good-bye. She is infinitely sad, and I am with her in her grief. Despite all of the fear and uncertainty, the utterly desolate grief and pitiful anger, there are moments of humor as well; who could not smile through their tears as they recognize a uniquely sisterly urge to sit as close up as possible to their sister, snuggling together, one sister on each side of her, together as one, as she goes through these horrible things. As we are all quite large, the image of the potential physical reality that popped into my mind as I was feeling this was ridiculous and I had to smile to myself at the thought. It is not a thought I could readily share with Patty, though. She has a much harder road immediately ahead of her now. I hope, though, that there will still be time for some small silly moments with her daughter, some sweet times with her son, some laughter and much love along with all of the tears and fear. My anger is dissolving as the realities hit home, and I do not know what exactly to do or say but am trusting in our family togetherness to keep such things appropriate and meaningful for Patty.
Any of you with sisters already have a “Patty” in your life, so I do not have to wish for you to know her because, if there is any love present at all, you already know my sister by heart. If you do not yet have, or never have had, a sister (or two) I do not think I can do Patty justice for your benefit. How many people do you want to permanently glue yourself to as if it will somehow keep them alive and by you forever? How many of you have felt the loss of a relationship finally growing in a love that has a physical presence within your corporeal being before it is torn asunder by death? How many of you know you are losing one of the very few people you have ever been able to laugh with until you cried, and about the silliest things? How many of you have lost, or are losing, one of the very few people who has known you their entire life and has forgiven more childish sin than the Catholic Church? Who else, except a sister, can love you for who you really are even when you don’t feel as if you could ever love yourself again because of some of the things you have done or said to each other? These things cannot be put easily into words, and are even more remote when stated to those with no sisters for reference.
It is a terrible, wonderful love that must break the walls of time into crumbling ruins in order to be with the ones it encompasses. It is a love too solid, too real for this earthly impermanence to ever contain. It is forever in its strength, scope, and being. It is eternity itself.
For Patty, My Sister
You are in my heart forever
Your face fixed firmly in my brain
I wish I knew I would also recall your voice
Once it’s gone
From this human plain
A thousand memories
Like snapshots
Surge and wane through each thought
My heart beats in endless
Longing to share some of its strength
To carry you to some safe place
Where you can continue
Where you will be able to live
And visit and share and hug
So we do not have to say
Good-bye too soon
You will always be too young
To die
To an older sister
Whose grief sometimes makes her think
Ridiculous thoughts you would laugh to hear
But they are born of a solid hard enduring love
You will never have to fear
Being without
Wherever your forever
Finds itself
At the break of that strange
Unwelcome and future day
I will be there with you in heart and mind
With you forever
To stay.
(Randy Sparks)
Today while the blossom still clings to the vine
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joys that are mine today
I'll be a dandy and I'll be a rover
You'll know who I am by the song that I sing
I'll feast at your table, I'll lie in your clover
I'll laugh and I'll cry and I'll sing
Today while the blossom still clings to the vine
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joys that are mine today
I can't be contented with yesterday's glories
I can't live on promises winter to spring
This is my moment and now is my story
Who cares what tomorrow will bring
Today while the blossom still clings to the vine
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joys that are mine today
There have been many times of grief and stress for our family over the past few years, and during those times I have felt very strongly that I have been somehow gifted with the memories of certain songs. When our Dad had to undergo open heart surgery “Morning Has Broken” was my comfort as I drove the distances between home and hospital. When my Mom was dying, I had three lullabies; “Stille Nacht,” “All Through the Night,” and “Edelweiss.” I do not recall any particular comfort song while my Dad battled breast cancer surgery and the chemo and radiation treatments that it necessitated, but it is likely there was one. And now, with my sister dying of leukemia, with little hope given for the success of a bone marrow transplant, I have been finding comfort in the song transcribed above, though I am not sure why yet.
I realize now that “Morning Has Broken” was a song of genuine hope and simple faith. The three lullabies were the one my grandmother sang to my Mom when she was young, the lullaby I heard my mother sing to me, and the song my sister, Patty, used to sing to her two children when they were small enough to still be comforted by such things. Patty’s two children are my parents’ only grandchildren. I do not question that the songs are comforting, and that is the purpose they serve for me during times such as this, but it is still a little puzzling as to what the actual significance of my needing them or thinking of them may be. I do not worry about it, just wonder a bit sometimes.
Patty may only have a few more weeks to live. Her last bone marrow biopsy revealed an 80% concentration of leukemic cells in the marrow, and her only recourse is to be rushed into the transplant, although the chances of her survival are very slim even with the procedure. I was crying as I drove home from her daughter’s 10th birthday party tonight. I do not want my sister to die.
As I drove home it was as though my heart was pouring itself out with each tear, but in spite of a very real and profound grief the writer in me was whispering “Don’t do this now! It’s too good to just throw away in the car and you know you might not remember most of it by the time you get to the keyboard!” I will try to recall what my mouthy ego was so concerned about, but I will probably end up crying as I type, in order to pass at least some of those incredible thoughts on to those reading my blog.
Although I have received compliments on my reflective writing in the past, most of that writing has been the result of pain, anger and grief and I honestly wish I had not had so much about those subjects to convey. In the midst of the first waves of sadness, anger, and fear I feel as though I am screaming into an echoing void that sends my pain back in a silence so profound those screams become a physical entity with life of their own. Like slow, sad waves breaking upon a desolate and gray sand somewhere in time, harsh in the light of day but gentle in the weakness that flows from such emotion, the funereal melody of the water embodies itself in those same screams; echoing, always echoing, slipping and patting the shores of my emotions with an endless litany of broken hopes and pain. Even my anger has somehow mellowed or degenerated into something quiet, weaker than it used to be, perhaps because there is no one except God to be angry with right now.
All of my frantic fumblings, wondering if I might somehow discover a way to bargain with God for my sister’s life, have come to an end – what could I possibly offer such omnipotence; what promises could I even begin to make, that would convince a God of stone to take pity on this small and aching family; on my poor sister and her children?
As Patty stroked the cats who took turns resting on her lap this evening, as she celebrated her daughter’s birthday, as she looked at her son and each one of the rest of us in turn, I felt she was trying to begin saying good-bye. She is infinitely sad, and I am with her in her grief. Despite all of the fear and uncertainty, the utterly desolate grief and pitiful anger, there are moments of humor as well; who could not smile through their tears as they recognize a uniquely sisterly urge to sit as close up as possible to their sister, snuggling together, one sister on each side of her, together as one, as she goes through these horrible things. As we are all quite large, the image of the potential physical reality that popped into my mind as I was feeling this was ridiculous and I had to smile to myself at the thought. It is not a thought I could readily share with Patty, though. She has a much harder road immediately ahead of her now. I hope, though, that there will still be time for some small silly moments with her daughter, some sweet times with her son, some laughter and much love along with all of the tears and fear. My anger is dissolving as the realities hit home, and I do not know what exactly to do or say but am trusting in our family togetherness to keep such things appropriate and meaningful for Patty.
Any of you with sisters already have a “Patty” in your life, so I do not have to wish for you to know her because, if there is any love present at all, you already know my sister by heart. If you do not yet have, or never have had, a sister (or two) I do not think I can do Patty justice for your benefit. How many people do you want to permanently glue yourself to as if it will somehow keep them alive and by you forever? How many of you have felt the loss of a relationship finally growing in a love that has a physical presence within your corporeal being before it is torn asunder by death? How many of you know you are losing one of the very few people you have ever been able to laugh with until you cried, and about the silliest things? How many of you have lost, or are losing, one of the very few people who has known you their entire life and has forgiven more childish sin than the Catholic Church? Who else, except a sister, can love you for who you really are even when you don’t feel as if you could ever love yourself again because of some of the things you have done or said to each other? These things cannot be put easily into words, and are even more remote when stated to those with no sisters for reference.
It is a terrible, wonderful love that must break the walls of time into crumbling ruins in order to be with the ones it encompasses. It is a love too solid, too real for this earthly impermanence to ever contain. It is forever in its strength, scope, and being. It is eternity itself.
For Patty, My Sister
You are in my heart forever
Your face fixed firmly in my brain
I wish I knew I would also recall your voice
Once it’s gone
From this human plain
A thousand memories
Like snapshots
Surge and wane through each thought
My heart beats in endless
Longing to share some of its strength
To carry you to some safe place
Where you can continue
Where you will be able to live
And visit and share and hug
So we do not have to say
Good-bye too soon
You will always be too young
To die
To an older sister
Whose grief sometimes makes her think
Ridiculous thoughts you would laugh to hear
But they are born of a solid hard enduring love
You will never have to fear
Being without
Wherever your forever
Finds itself
At the break of that strange
Unwelcome and future day
I will be there with you in heart and mind
With you forever
To stay.
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