I remember weeping as I walked through my sister’s house. I knew that the cancer was winning and that she would never come home. I also knew she wasn’t ready to give up. I knew something of her dreams.
Pausing at the beach terrarium with its cherished collection of shells and sand from Baldhead Island, I wept as I said good-bye to Anne’s dreams. How she loved the ocean and the beach. How she wanted someday to take a Caribbean cruise. How she enjoyed her home, her hot tub, her two cats. How she wanted to help find a cure for ovarian cancer. How she looked forward to retirement and travel.
I continued my walk through her house, which was filled with her presence simply because she was still alive. In each room I prayed a blessing. To each room I whispered good-bye.
Just six weeks later (only four days after Anne’s death), I was flying from Raleigh to Tulsa to see my grandson. Sitting there on the plane, I prayed silently. I knew that Anne would want me to go on. I knew that even as I grieved, she would be cheering me on to live my dreams, especially since she didn’t get to live all of hers.
It took a long time to let go of her, to get myself from the two months with her at her bedside to the present. Holding my infant grandson soothed me. Being with my daughter and son-in-law helped. And then I was traveling home to Whidbey Island, a place of refuge that became my grounds for grieving. Anne ushered me right into my life without her, enjoying, I’m sure, every astonished moment I experienced when her death benefit, her life insurance, and her retirement benefits came in. Suddenly I was financially independent. Suddenly I had the opportunity to be generous with my church and my children and cancer research. And myself.
So I live my dream: this quiet island life filled with writing and music, plus frequent visits with my children and grandson. Every day is a gift. Anne told me not to wait for my dreams but to live them, and I do now every day, by God's grace.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment