The Little Girl in the White Communion Dress

What is real in our lives?  Do we live in reality or do we pretend how we wish life to be?    Sometimes we fool ourselves, don't we?  Eluding that the situation is okay, when  it's not.  Perhaps if we don't talk about IT or look "IT" straight in the face, then we think everything is fine.....no problems......no one needs to know.  Some of us talk about the issues, whatever that might be, while others don't, and they push that pain all the way deep down inside, never dealing with it.  One has to face it at some point....the insanity, the craziness, the strangeness of it all.  It's like being in a dramatic thriller movie, and not quite sure when or where the climax will occur. You're anxiously waiting for something to happen, but really not wanting to face it.  You could relate these thoughts with any aspect of  your own life, but I'm referring to the hallucinations or realities of our dear loved ones.

Everyday is different for a person who faces a terminal or chronic illness.  When their time to eternal rest approaches, their dreams and fears become a reality for them.  The patients with the cancers, the mental illnesses, the terminal diseases; they all have a common thread.   They all have visions at some part of their journey.  In our minds, they seem to be an illusion, but who are we to know?  Quite possibly, they could be seeing a person from the other side.  Why not?  During my dad's cancer, I used to think it was the medicine or the disease effecting his brain.  With Chrissy, I truly believed in some of her visions; not the paranoia, but the visions, even though I couldn't see them.  Her visions could have been a glimpse of the after life.....seeing people in her room.  We couldn't see them, but maybe she saw more than we'll ever know.  When someone is getting closer to the end of their earthly life, I think the guiding angels surround them.....even ones they may not recognize.

With the upcoming event of my Luke's First Communion, I am reminded of a  time in our lives back in '76....hearing of the little girl in the white communion dress.   Some of us in the family may wish to forget some of those memories, but that was our world.  This particular memory was told to me by my sister, Deni, and and my brother,Curt..   Trying to find that little girl for my dad, and chasing her out of our backyard was what they were told to do.  They never saw her but he did.  I have learned that all experiences, whether pleasant or not, lead us to the next door of our journey.  I'm learning to face those fears, those painful memories whether I want to or not.  Our soul depends on those experiences, and I am learning to accept.....sometimes kicking and screaming....but I am learning.  To experience is to learn; to learn is to grow, and grow I must. 

Hospitals were common place to us when I was younger.  With those hospital visits came the treatments, the medications, the tears, the gut wrenching frustrations and the hallucinations....my dad's hallucinations.  Some, I was shielded from by family members, while others I was not.   As a little girl, my fears were that my dad would approach me with something that didn't make sense, something that wasn't real or visible to me.  Some days he did, and it was awkward, but I made it through.  Now I realize Jesus was with me all along during those difficult days.  I don't know if dad's dilusions stemmed from the medicines he ingested or from the side-effects of the tumor pressing on his brain.  Either way, it was a memory that was brought back to life when Chrissy herself traveled her own path.....her destiny with breast cancer.  I relived those uncertain times as I watched Chrissy talk with Maria and Frankie, watching the the same hallucinations that my dad had confronted.  Now, IT had rested upon her bed, too.

I don't recall my sister wearing her communion dress, but I do remember her First Communion because it took place in the house where we grew up.  Right there in our living room, Chrissy would present to her daddy the greatest gift of all.  It was around late winter, early spring of 1976.   First Communions usually occur in April or May, but I suppose the family knew that dad wasn't going to be with us that long.   Chrissy's First Communion was an early surprise for my dad and the rest of the family.  Dad's health was progressively becoming worse, but he was to witness one last special gift that would last a lifetime.  Mom and Sr. Kenneth, our school principal, along with all the higher ups had arranged for this emotional moment to happen.  That night the vision became my dad's reality........seeing Chrissy's First Communion.   I don't know who my dad saw that day in our backyard..........an illusion or a little girl in her white communion dress.  I can only imagine what he saw on that morning of my sister's passing to her new life with them.  Perhaps then he really did see HIS little girl in her white communion dress.

"How we see depends on our perceptions of what life is to be" 

The American Cancer Society - 2010 Relay For Life Rockwood School District MO:

The American Cancer Society - 2010 Relay For Life Rockwood School District MO:


If you're looking for another way to make a difference, click the above link and find the team listed called Chrissy's Crusaders. You can make a donation or participate in this event.  Fairway School is raising money for the American Cancer Society in honor of my sister. This is where Frankie and Maria attend elementary school. It's a very emotional event, and I hope it's another step towards finding more cures, more hope. Frank mentioned that they have surpassed their funds raised in past years, and I noticed that they are in 3rd place up til now with donations collected in the Rockwood School District. Not sure I will be attending the entire event, but my presence will be there to represent my sister, my friend.

The event begins Friday, June 4th at Eureka High School.  All the details will be found on that link.

What Is Heaven?

Is there a heaven, and if so, what is it like there?  Is it behind the rainbows and passed the puffy white clouds?  That's a question that has been asked of me so many times from my children, especially this past year as they search for understanding.   They try to grasp reality as death's fingers have mingled themselves amid their lives.  It's also the question that Chrissy and I talked about while she endured so much suffering and experimentation, emotionally and physically.   She put up with the endless injections, countless doctors' visits, awaited many test results and felt the side effects of each and every chemo treatment.  Some treatments were bearable while others condemned her to an unknown horrible place for awhile.  No one would wish that on their worst enemy, but I suppose I had to reach inside, to have a sense of what she was experiencing.  There was no human way to comprehend her pain unless I had the cancer and the treatments myself.  One time she said the effects of chemo were like being sick with the flu with an additional 20 pounds packed onto each of your shoulders. Certain days our conversations led to heaven.....perhaps it was a distraction from the realities and what if these treatments didn't help.
Her deepest fear was to be separated from her children and her family.  In theory, I could have quoted all the proof as scripted in the Bible by many prophets or from my own beliefs.  When you face your mortality, though, as my sister did, there's so many questions and so much fear that you encounter.  It's quite overwhelming as many of you have witnessed in your own lives.  I'm convinced, as I told her, that we were all going to be there someday.  If she was going to die, she was going to be right here beside us, along with mom and dad, guiding us, laughing at us and finally understanding what this was all about.  It was us who would still have the questions, the sadness, but ultimately we would be okay.
What is this place we call heaven?   Some have proposed that it's a place created by the religions of this world for their own purposes of control.  We are such an untrusting society filled with reservations, including myself.  Why do we instantly believe the infidelities of prominent married couples?  We can believe without seeing in those circumstances.  We rely on what appears to be half truths; yet, we can't convince ourselves that there can be a world that lies beyond this one.........a heaven waiting for us.  Why is it challenging to accept that perhaps a world exists that mimics this one, without all the mess. A world that generates light, love, joy and complete perfection.  A place that exists so much closer than we've ever been taught.  With a world full of disappointments and suffering; how could we envision such a place?  The answer for me my friends is easy:  there has to be something better than this.  This world is full of so many blessings and fulfillment; yet, we also have the cancers, the deaths, the ugliness of the world.   With all of this, the good and the bad, there has to be so much more, more than we can comprehend.
How is it that I sense the sadness in my child's heart without a word being spoken?  Why did I fall in love with my husband and continue to feel his love even when he's not in the room?  It's not always visible, but I know it to be true.  Why do I feel fear when nothing has happened, but I can sense danger?  How do I know when a friend is hurting even though we haven't spoken in awhile, but I sense something is wrong?  How can I look at the starry, twinkling night sky or the vastness of the depths of the oceans that seem to blanket us with its beauties, and not feel a glimpse of heaven?  To witness the birth of a child and feel their heart beat inside of yours; how can you not feel a sense of something greater going on?  
Imagine a place so beautiful that you never want to leave, a place without pain or disappointments, no heartache, only pure constant love.  Imagine being happy all the time, never knowing anger or fatigue.  Imagine the most gorgeous sunset with the warmth beaming on your face. Imagine reading the best comic book.  Imagine eating the sweetest icecream cone outside, and there's never a bee  in sight that will annoy you.   Imagine seeing Aunt Chrissy's face again and being surrounded by all our family.....with love all the time....and fun BBQ's.  Imagine having your best time ever.  Imagine falling down but not feeling the pain.  Imagine playing with all your favorite toys whenever you want.  Can you see that?  That's what I tell my children......and that's what heaven is to me.

Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life.  He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.  Do you believe this?"

John 11:  25-26

Just Say Something Do Something

 Honestly, I don't always know what it is that I expect or need from anyone sometimes.  When the emotion hits me; I try to feel it, as painful as life can be.   I need to feel all parts of this journey whether I want to or not.  That's where  the healing happens, atleast for me.  There are days when I scream because the pain of missing her physical presence in my life is so powerful.  For those that walk this road with me, thank you for your patience, but never hurry me to your expectations.  That's what I miss most about my sister because she allowed me that opportunity to just put it out there or not.  Sometimes I would say, "I can't talk about it right now, while other times, I could pour myself out to her.  When she could sense that something was bothering me, she would instantly say, "What's wrong?"  I felt that she honestly heard me and wanted to know why I was feeling the way I was.  Not everyone really wants to know.  They may mean well, but I try to weed out who really wants to know and who doesn't.  I don't have the energy or patience to wait for people to respond to what has happened in our lives.   Perhaps some are afraid to walk the walk with me, and that's where it's awkward when I run into someone who knows or doesn't know.  Do I tell them for fear that they will not know what to say?  Do I tell them because it would let them know that I'm hurting?   Why?  Will it help my sister return?   Perhaps my lack of conversing with them might be misunderstood or thought of as aloof.  Do I care?  Not anymore.  Sometimes I  can't make the small talk or hear about someone else's aches and pains when I feel my heart is ready to explode.  My tolerance level and filter are low; therefor, I stay in seclusion.  I'm not feeling sorry for myself; rather reading, learning and trying to figure out my life in this new way.  Sometimes being in the busy world is too distracting for me, and I find it more comforting to be in solitude or with my family.  They know and can accept that part of me.  As I've learned over time, most everyone will experience grief in some form:  a death, a divorce, loneliness.   All of us have our journey, but for me, the grief is in the loss of my sister, my friend, my confidant, my Chrissy. 
One morning, I asked my husband, Marty, if he's read any of my entries.  He tends to be at his busiest during this time of year with IEP's and meetings through Special School District so I don't expect him to read, but I do value his input.  I wanted to know his reactions as well as his insights.  He had this sort of strange grin on his face, and I thought he was going to say something awful about my website; however, after reading six of my entries, he's reading some unknown parts about me and worried that I'm going to put something out there about HIM.   Anyone who knows Marty, knows that he is very down to earth, and he uses a lot of humor.  His concerns to me were that he didn't want me to put anything out there about him......venting my anger, if any, out here in the public eye.  I had to smile and chuckle and relayed to him:  "Just give me everything that my heart desires, and you'll be okay my friend.  (LOL)  You gotta love him!  During Chrissy's battle with cancer, my relationship only strengthened with Marty.   When he would  listen to my fears, frustrations and the tears would fall onto his shirt.....I wasn't sure he was hearing me because he would stay silent.  I would yell out at him.   "Just say something....do something,"  as I sobbed.   Sometimes things need to be talked about in order to get through them and sometimes there needs to be a listening ear. 

Through the death of  my parents and especially my sister, I have felt and feel the awkwardness of those who don't know what to say.  This weekend, my husband's niece, Becca, got married.  During  the rehearsal dinner, a nephew by marriage began asking me how Frank was doing and myself and the kids.  I paused for a few seconds, as I had to check if Ryan really wanted to hear it, and should I put it out there?   I was so glad he asked, even though I burst into tears telling him all about  Frank and how much I respect what he is doing for Maria and Frankie.  It cuts you in the deepest part of your heart, but I was relieved he asked.  Of course, he felt horrible that I was crying.  Through the tears, though, I relayed to him how grateful I was that he had asked.  It's more awkward when people don't ask or don't really listen.  It's okay to cry.   It requires more energy to hold back the emotions.....to pretend.  Why do we pretend that our lives haven't been through a devastating, life altering event?  Whether it's your sister, your spouse, your child, your dear friend, a grandparent, an aunt or uncle....why do we pretend?  Sometimes we don't want to talk about it, but I believe it's only a positive when someone shows their concern.   In some ways, there is a blessing to this experience, but in other ways it's very surreal when you think about your actions and words  living through this.....for my sister's kids living through this.  We have been through an emotional rollercoaster for quite some time.  If we pretend without showing our true emotions; what's the sense of moving or doing anything?  The world continues on, but our lives, for those of us that grieve, we move.....we only move.  We don't quite know where we're moving.  It's a day to day learning experience.   After attending the wedding rehearsal and wedding for Marty's neice, Becca, it's still awkward for me.  Even four months later after Chrissy's passing, social situations are not easy.  I would rather be in my own comfort zone at home without idle chit chat.   That's not to say that I don't care, but I have nothing to give back....my personality is trying to fill up, but I don't know if it ever will be the same.  That's what I'm learning right now.  How to live without being the way I was before.   My time is just mine for now.....a sister who is missing and grieving for her sister.  What I'm feeling may not be what someone else is feeling, but that's where it is for me.  All I can offer for you is this.   If you know someone who is feeling the loss of a loved one or caring for someone who is sick; just say something or do something without being asked.......write a note with a kind thought, send an email or card to say, "hello", prepare a dinner, give a hug.  Be creative, but don't say, "Call me if you need anything", because most likely, the person grieving will not.   Kind gestures are always welcome, and I thank all of you who have given of themselves to our family by doing.....just doing.  I know Chrissy is grateful for the ones who have stayed by her Frank and the children, too.  Life is too short for wouldas, couldas, shouldas.....just say something, do something.


"Each person comes into this world with a specific destiny--he has something to fulfill, some message has to be delivered, some work has to be completed. You are not here accidentally--you are here meaningfully. There is a purpose behind you. The whole intends to do something through you."

             - by Osho 

Which Ones Do I Want?

Today I'd like to keep it light, sharing a funny story during even the worst of times.  How does one get through this cancer.....through the pain....through the grief?  Every person's journey is their own to be lived and to be followed in their chosen way.  I've asked that question  myself, and the simple answers for me are tears, prayers and laughter.  Yes, even laughter helps heal the soul.  In the Meyer Family, almost every element, whether with Chrissy's breast cancer, life or some other awkward moment-----humor was and is a common and necessary element to our world.  With all the chaos and stress that goes along with cancer or any life altering disease; there has to be an outlet for survival. 

Let me take you back to September of 2007, when Chrissy underwent a double mastectomy after her original diagnosis of breast cancer, Stage IIB.(I think this is accurate)  The evening after her surgery or the following day, I found myself in Chrissy's hospital room with my sister, Susie, and my niece, Cassie.  Chrissy was in a very light-hearted mood, and you wouldn't have known she just underwent major surgery, such as hers, by her carefree mood.  I don't know if she did that for our sake or if she was really concerned.  She kept her fears hidden from us for such a long time.  After much research and consultation with her doctors, she chose to have the double mastectomy.  For each woman or man facing this type of cancer, it should be a private decision and not under the microscope of every friend or family member.  Of course, she did ask me, but ultimately I said that the decision was hers, and I would support whatever she decided to do.  As much as well meaning friends and family want to help; that decision should be left to the person who has the cancer.  She was feeling a bit conflicted, but I told her to go with her gut and original feeling about which course of treatment to take.  I knew she was leaning towards the double mastectomy and I agreed.

Our discussion on that particular evening led to what size breasts she would get once she was ready for "replacements."  Well, my friends, I would not want to have breast cancer, but if someone said that I could replace these 46 year-old hunks of flesh.....I would do it in a New York second!   If you could turn a positive into a negative; new perky breasts were key.   Chrissy had a thin, beautiful figure, but she always referred to her breasts after childbirth as "the utters."   Chrissy was probably a small/med  B-cup size.....and the "utter" comment was not my choice of word, but the word my sister herself had chosen.  She continued the discussion to, "Which breast size do I want?" (for herself)  Before I knew it, she was requesting to see, in the flesh, right there in the cold hospital room our breasts. 

If I may, let me explain something very clearly.  I do not like to show my breasts or "down there" to anyone....even my sisters.  Imagine me in the high school locker room replacing my catholic school uniform with gym clothes without seeing one ounce of private flesh.  It could be done, if you had the necessary skills; it was possible.   I did it all through high school so it's very doable.  Even as an adult, if I'm trying on clothes in front of someone, they see my back only and the rest is hidden.  So you can imagine my expression in this hospital room when they think I should expose these puppies.  Another fear was at that very moment, if I were to choose this crazy idea of exposing my breasts, a doctor or nurse could enter the room.  Cassie, of course, without question would do anything for her Aunt Chrissy, and besides, what does she have to worry about.....she was about thirty at the time.  She did it....quickly, and you heard Chrissy go, "Ohhhhh, nice, what size are you?"    My heart was beating faster and faster because I am not going to offer this one up, even for the sister with "the cancer." (Chrissy would say this as a whisper to make light of people not wanting to talk about it....and we would laugh)  Next in line was sister, Sue, who swiftly lifted her shirt and bra, as did Cassie, and the response was, "Ohhhhhhh, pretty perky for someone of your age, nice."   Okay, now all eyes are on me.  I am nodding my head to show them NO.  "C'mon, show us your breasts!"  (they continued to badger me over and over)   "I'm not doing it, haven't you all seen enough???  Aren't you able to make your decision???"

My sweet sister with the cancer says something like, "Oh, c'mon, do it for me, pleassssssse???"
How can you turn down a request like that?  Well, my friends, I turned over a new leaf that day.  Nothing was sacred anymore.....especially when you face life altering decisions like my sister had.  Who was I to say no to her?   I was standing directly across from the closed hospital door.  "Okay, Sue, guard the door,"  I hesitantly sighed.   Sue blocked the doorway just in case someone entered at the opportune time.   Then, ever so quickly, and luckily it was cold in that room, I did it.  I did it for my sister.  Let me preface by saying that I am the biggest chested woman in the family....not bragging at all, because I'd prefer less, but just keep in mind DD on a short frame.  Well, the response was "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH."   Silence fell upon the room, and all Chrissy said was, "That's a bit too much." 

Well, as I've said before, my friends, I'm keeping it real. 

"The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, serenely, divinely aware"

                               -Henry Miller

The Bee and Me

Yesterday evening while reading on our deck, I had the most creepy, surreal experience with this huge, fuzzy, lingering bumble bee.  My son, Luke, referred to him as a Yellow Jacket.  Normally I'm not bothered by bees or whatever name they are given; however, last night this one was such a nuisance.  I had hoped to read in peace on such a gorgeous evening, but found myself annoyed by this hovering, little Yellow Jacket that kept buzzing around my head, practically glaring at me head on.  At first, I was not giving it much attention, but after 10 minutes of this buzzing sound near my ear, along with swishing, slapping behavior on my part; I found myself darting inside our house and staring at this bee from my glass doors.  This bee seemed to be staring me down, even through the glass doors.  It literally hovered in front of me back and forth for a good five minutes and then it would fly away, only to return and continue this routine back and forth for over  half an hour.  There's an irony about this bee thing that Frank and the rest of my family would agree.  Chrissy  was deathly afraid of bees......I mean a true hatred and fear of bees while I could care less.  In fact, at times she wanted to wipe them off the face of the earth and I would tell her how important they were to pollinating our crops and the environment.  That comment just set her free.  Last night, though, I discovered that I didn't want to be stung by this little pest either.....I was sort of afraid but intrigued at the same time.  When Chrissy was alive they didn't annoy me like they did her.  Last night was a different story, though.

Her fear of the bee was merited.  As a little girl, she was the one that the bees targeted.  That girl could be walking alongside ten other people, and I swear it would sting my sister first.  Quite often she got stung by bees while outside playing as a little girl.  Her fear was real, but as we grew into adulthood, I would often chuckle at her for being so frightened of the bees.  She would spot one many yards away and would often spring to her feet with a deep gutteral "ahhhhhooooooooooh".  It was quite humorous from the standpoint of the bystander, who did not have this phobia.  Eventually, as my children grew up around her, seeing this craziness kick in over a bee; I would blame her for their fear of the bee as well.  It was sort of a joke, and sometimes she would get really upset with me for smiling when I saw her be such a contortionist as the bee would buzz around her patio table.  She read somewhere that a Bounce Fabric Softener would repel bees so she tied one to her patio table.  I would sit there so relaxed and calm as bees would buzz here and there which would get Chrissy even more upset by my lack of caring. 

As I watched this Yellow Jacket hover in front of me; it dawned on me that perhaps.....just perhaps my sister was getting even with me.  I'm not sure if I believe in reincarnation as it is written in books, but I believe there is the possibility of our loved ones' spirits entering other entities or influencing other bodies,  if you will.  As I began chuckling on the other side of the glass doors; I thought to myself, "You little stinker!"   Maybe I'm grasping at straws,  finding my sister's spirit in a bee, but for those of us grieving........you get it, don't you.  Our eyes are open to the possibilites and miracles of what might be or what IS.  You may not agree with me, but I know what I felt.  The day was a weepy one for me, as those moments come and go for no apparent reason, but with the bee and me, there was a peace that surpassed all understanding.  That may sound crazy that I write of a bee.....yes, a bee, but what I hope you learn from this entry is not to discount the miracles that surround you.  Whether in the form of a bee, an animal, the flowers, the rain, your children, a friend or in a stranger......pay attention. Look around you and notice what's happening with your life and your loved ones' lives.  How simplistic it all seems; yet, we miss it everyday, those opportunities to see.  God is beyond what we can imagine but more simplistic than we know.  If we only gave Him a chance, all things are possible, aren't they?  For this moment, my friends, enjoy and savor.

"Things look up when you look to God"

Faith

Today my daughter, Faith, celebrates her 7th birthday.  She is so excited; she can hardly contain herself.  She is like me at my age now, but in a 7-year old body.  What I mean to say is that she has that watch dog, filled with confidence attitude, sort of sassy and likes to be the party planner which took me many more years to acquire in my lifetime.  Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be blessed with such a unique, spirited soul.  Anyone who knows her adores her sweet, caring yet sassy attitude.  All I can say is "God help me when she reaches the teenage years."  Her name, in itself is another reminder of what Chrissy gave to me.  There is a story to be told about that one.

Faith has asked many times why I picked the name "Faith" for her, especially when she feels her name isn't really special.......just ordinary.   Once she hears the story of how we came to name her, she's a bit more loving and accepting of her name and feels really special knowing its origin.  Her name wasn't necessarily one of our top ten names when we had started choosing names for our children.  After my oldest son, Eric, was born, it became difficult to conceive, and after almost two years we finally became pregnant.  My baby reaching 12 weeks old, I miscarried, and my soul was devastated.   Although I never met our baby personally, I felt its heart in my heart.  That loss wounded me for awhile as mothers who miscarry can understand.  Some of the words no one wants to hear during that time are:  "It's all for the best."  "How did it happen?"  "You are young, and you will get pregnant again."  "You were lucky; it could have been severely disabled."  Please keep those comments to yourself.  Those words don't ease our pain; rather, a simple hug or "I'm so sorry for your loss." or  "I'm thinking about you" or sending a card would be helpful.  By the way, thank you for all the wonderful cards during that time, as I have kept many of them after all these years as a reminder of the love that surrounded me during a very difficult time. 

After a few months, we became pregnant again, only to miscarry within a short time.  During those months, Chrissy had become pregnant with her son, Frankie, and a name they had tossed about if the baby was a girl was the name Faith.  After some discussion, they concluded that although they liked the name itself, it didn't sound right with their last name Corrao.  

 I had come to the resolution that perhaps Eric was to be our only child.  We had names like Luke for a boy's name and Annalise for a girls name, but I still had it in my mind that God had other plans for us, and eventually during a retreat I accepted the fact that no other children were to come.  Whatever God wanted of us; we had accepted it.  A week later after the retreat, I found out I was pregnant, and that baby was a boy.....who was Luke, our second child, who was born in 2001.  It didn't even cross my mind that we would have another baby after him because it took us a few years to conceive our Luke.  When Luke turned a year old, we had the wonderful surprise that I was pregnant yet again.  Marty and I smiled in disbelief.  We were in utter shock; yet, so elated.  I thought to myself that this is icing on the cake, and no matter what God had in mind for this pregnancy......I would not lose faith in Him.  All things were possible through Him.

I originally liked the name Annalise; however, Faith seemed more fitting if she were to be a girl.  After all, look at what we had been given.  How could we not have faith in what was TO  BE.  With all of our babies, we waited until they were born to find out the sex.  I had it in my mind that this baby was again another boy.  It felt the same to carry this child as my other two boys, and I suppose I fell into that trap of the old wive's tale that girls and boys carry differently in the womb.  I had convinced myself that this birth was going to result in a boy who would be called "Jack".  My three sons had a ring to it, and I truly felt that either way we were blessed....boy or girl.  I had asked Chrissy about the name "Faith" if we were to have a girl, and she said that she loved the name, but they had no plans on using the name.  I didn't want to be a "baby name stealer."  You moms out there know what I mean.  Many of you have come across a "baby name stealer" or two, right?  That never matter much to me, but in the family, you have to be careful.

The day came, April 12th, and I was in the most talkative, happy mood during labor.  I couldn't wait until this baby was born.  For some reason,  I couldn't stop talking to the labor nurse.....I mean nonstop.  Marty even made the comment to our nurse that this was not normal for me.  It was as if I was on some sort of adrenaline high.  Now I understand why our Faith talks so much......her love for talking was seeping through me at that time.  Isn't that ironic, but I think a piece of her soul had passed over to me at that moment in time.  She was due on Easter of that year, but the specific date escapes me.  Our little precious baby came a few days early, and to our surprise out came our little girl!  Marty and I looked at each other, and we could hardly speak a word.  My Ob/Gyn said, "It's a girl."  Marty and I asked her again: "A girl, are you sure, it's a girl?"  There was a little bit of laughter in the room after that.  Faith Annalise Woytus was to be her name.

Words can't express how excited we were in more ways than you can imagine.  You see, Chrissy had given birth to her little girl, Maria, in the previous September.  I didn't want to question God as to what kind of baby that He would send to us because of the circumstances of our miscarriages.  Any type of baby was welcome to us at that point in our lives.  Once I saw our little girl, though, I knew that Faith and Maria would be the best of friends.  Just like Chrissy and me, those two girls would grow to enjoy all the benefits that sisters do.  Even though they were cousins by birth; they would become sister friends.  Chrissy was so excited when I shared the news to her that day.  I remember her words as if they were yesterday, "I had hoped it would be a girl!  We will have so much fun watching them grow and play!  I love you so much!"

"I love you, too, my friend.  I love you, too."

Sisters Just Know

One of my most favorite days, nothing extraordinary, but a precious time when Chrissy and I were sitting in my backyard watching our girls, Maria and Faith,  running around our yard, swinging, giggling, not a care or concern in the world,  through their eyes.  Two best friends just hangin' out, having some fun.  It may have been during the month of March or April last year, a couple of months after we heard the devastating news about the lump she had found.  Both of us now realizing that the clock was ticking with her time here on earth, and both of us wanting to buy more of it if we could.  Her health was stable, but the prognosis of the cancer reaching her liver and the type of breast cancer she had, had changed all of our hopes and plans........it had changed her and Frank's plans of what they envisioned their life to be.  I wonder if our dreams, our visions are ever our  own or are our visions, our life plan to come from our creator?  I tend to agree with the latter, not to say that we are supposed to live in suffering and have no choices.  I do believe that our souls are here on earth to learn and grow, until we become what it is that we are meant to do.  Are we living the life that God wants us to live?  I think that's a question that each of us has to look smack dab in the face, and ask ourselves.  Is it what we want or what God wants, for some ultimate purpose?  Possibly for many of us we are living our own way and not His.  That my friends is a question you may need to ask yourselves.
  
In January, upon hearing Chrissy's voice with the results of her tests, I knew our time together was numbered.  On that very day, we knew, and we cried for what was lost.  Of course, only God could decide "when" her time to go home would happen, but the results were in according to earthly time.  Each day that passed, was a day closer to her death.  Some would agree that we are all destined to die, but Chrissy's time was layed out before her.  We spend our lifetimes searching for answers, wondering how to live, only to die.  Naturally that sounds morbid because there are all those events  inbetween.  We go to school, develop friendships, attend graduations, we marry, acquire our careers, have kids, experience hardships.  I don't mean to be depressing about that thought, but isn't that how it really is?  Even our religions are based on living a spiritual life, a giving life, only to die and then hoping for a life beyond this one, with God.  There's much to be said on that point, and I will expand on that on a later entry.  For that particular day, last spring, our time was perfect, and I wanted to freeze it because I knew that the days ahead held a lot of turbulence.

In any case, on this sunny, warm breezy day, we were able to watch our girls interact and BE.......just be in the moment, and I wanted to hold onto it.   It's just where I wanted to be.....with my sister, my friend, my confidant.    So we sat there on a gorgeous day, having a hamock would have been even more perfect, both of us in our lounge chairs................with a lump in my throat.  I tried to peek over towards my sister without her knowing it.  It felt like I was living in the movie "Beaches" where Bette Midler looks over at Barbara Hershey knowing that her friend's time was diminishing.   Chrissy looking out at her little girl and smiling pensively, knowing that she wouldn't be here during Maria's adult years.  Sisters know these things.  I knew what she was thinking.  Neither one of us needed to say anything that day, as we sat in total comfort.  I could see she was enjoying the moment of this pleasant weather; just two sisters enjoying their time together, sipping on an ice tea.  Finally, she did look at me and asked, "Are you okay?"  The tears did not appear on my face because I didn't want to curtail her good moment, but my heart was sad.  My only response was, "I'm just tired......and relaxed........."  But I think she knew.  Sisters just know.  That day was a blessing as I retrieve  my memory folder, and I bring it out on the days when I miss her.  Even beyond this life, sisters just know as she guides me in helping her children, in knowing what to do or say.  She guides me in my own life as I continue to learn and search and wonder.   This I know my friends........sisters just know.

"Every thought you have makes up some segment of the world you see. It is with your thoughts, then, that we must work, if your perception of the world is to be changed"

The Hands

A lot can be said and learned by a person's hands.  Some people notice eyes or smiles, which at times, I do.  I also take notice and inventory when I see someone's hands during their life, how they hold my hand in theirs when we greet, and how they move during our conversation.  Do they hide them in their pockets as we speak, possibly showing their shyness, maybe insecure or hiding something else.  Do they keep them at their side or plant them on their hips?  As an observer of people, it fascinates me and I am curious about what most might consider trivial.  Much comfort, strength, care, parenting, life choices, and love permeates through the hands.  Why is it that I can recall so clearly the details of my loved ones' hands, but I can easily forget the shape of their eyes or face?   Quite possibly losing memory of their face could be the shield we need to protect us from our deep heartache.  That heartache of wanting them right here in the flesh.  The hands tell a story, but it doesn't put the face right there in front of us.  The face that may have experienced so much suffering during their stay in this world.  My mom did endure a tremendous amount of suffering. Far more than anyone should have to endure.  I choose to save that for another time.......another story.

The way my mom took care of her hands and nails was absolutely down to a science during her lifetime.  My mom was a casual, very involved mom who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty.  At the same time, she loved to catch your attention by what she was wearing.  She was a knockout as a young mother, and the years of sickneess had worn not only on her body but on her hands.  She used her beautiful hands not only to feed and give us baths, but to clean our home and our parish church at St. Catherine's where we grew up.  She loved her fake nails from the Kmart, and often we would see her sizing up those little darlings and clipping them on with clothes pins while waiting for the glue to adhere ever so tightly to each fingernail.  On rare occasions, one of those nails would get lost in our dinner, and each of us hoped it wouldn't turn up on our plates.  Those hands were used for discipline on occasion and to show emotions but mostly when she was laughing or telling a good story.  When I was younger, those hands held  an occasional cigarette or two that spent most of its time burning in the ashtray.  Only in passing during her phone conversations did I see her take a puff or two. She clicked those hands to a typewriter back in the day; working as a secretary up at our grade school.  Often in her later years, as dad was dealing with his cancer struggles, you would  hear her clicking those nails on the kitchen table....sensing her frustrations and worries.  She did so much with those beautiful extremities that they became extensions of her personality.  She was a beautiful, sassy soul with a great sense of humor and style, and the best cook and mom that I ever knew.  She was that perfect mom in my eyes, and I thank God everyday for giving me that particular one....that mom.

I remember those same hands after she passed on to her new life.  Taking hold of her hand after she died was my very first inclination, before anything else, and that may seem strange.  Why wouldn't I go to kiss her or hug her?   Now it all seems clear to me.  That hand showed me so much care, love and attention during my life, and I suppose by touching and seeing her hand was evidence that  it was her still body lying there on the hospital bed.  I didn't want to believe it, and perhaps that hand was confirmation for me.  She was my mom, one who had died far too early.  A young mom who had just turned fifty.   I had to bring her hand up to caress my face because I couldn't believe that she had left us.  I was only twenty-two years old at the time, and my life was just beginning......how could she leave us?

I've seen many hands since then placed just so gently on the deceased bodies in their caskets.  Maybe it's too difficult for me to look at their faces because they are covered by a great deal of make-up, which makes them look statuesque, almost unreal.....almost unfamiliar.  Their hands tell the real story, though, or atleast gives us a partial glimpse as to who they were and are.  Recently, a friend of Chrissy's passed on to her new life and her family chose to take a photo of their mother's hand holding a rosary before she had died because she loved the Mother Mary, and would often pray the rosary.  They placed that photo on a prayer card.  How appropriate and soulful is that for people to remember their dear loved one?  I thought it was so powerful.  You could see the wear and tear that she lived, through her hands, but she also lived with an enormous amount of faith.  It didn't matter that the cancer had rocked her physical body; her soul continues to live on, and that photo of her hands was so poignant.  Whether you knew her in life or not; you could see the strength and perserverance in those hands.

I've also seen hands that were far too young  folded in their caskets.  I recall approaching the casket of a very young soul, too young to pass to her new life; and again I was drawn to the hands.  It touched me so deeply to view the young  hands of this woman, only twenty-one years old whose hands appeared like that of a child's spirit.  I had never met her in person, but I found myself whispering to Marty how very small and young those hands were.  They were far too young and perfect to leave this earth.

When your loved one is dying, as my sister Chrissy was, you find yourself trying to memorize every action, every body movement and every word they say, especially during their final days, because you don't want to forget them.  Amongst her many traits, her characteristics, her body mannerisms and her words......I found myself searching her hands, hoping and praying I wouldn't forget them, and I haven't.  Hers were long fingers, which were perfect for the piano keyboards that also resembled my dad's hands.   At times they were full of color, shape and promise; giving care and protection to her kids and embracing those around her.   Towards the end of her earthly life, they revealed the strain of this disease, the cancer.  Knowing full well her life story filled with smiles and joy giving friendship and laughter; I also saw the story of pain and suffering that overcame but did not prevail.  I may lose sight of her face at times, as grief tends to do, but those hands will be the one thing I will not forget as  the days progress as I deal with this grief.  I may need to search the scrapbooks filled with her photos or retrieve her emails and cards to recall her words, but I will never forget her hands.  The hands of my sister.

"When the doors of perception are cleansed man will see things as they truly are, infinite."

                                                                  -William Blake

Easter Shoe Boxes

Easter 2010 has come and gone, but not without leaving its memories along with the sting we feel....the absent one, my sister.  Holy week was a difficult one this year, in the sense that as our brunch was being planned; I wanted to talk with Chrissy about the details as we usually do.  Looking at the holiday in that way was sad, and I found myself quiet, finding time to reflect, cry but also be grateful......grateful for Jesus Christ.....grateful for the years and days I did have with my sister......grateful for friends that understand.......grateful for my husband and children who bring me joy.....some frustration at times (chuckle) but overwhelming gratefulness to God for my family, friends and our fun times. 

Most think that Christmas is the pivotal time in our faith, if you are one to believe in religion.  The pinnacle of our faith is Easter, though.  It clarifies the reason and answer to our existence.  If you believe that life goes beyond death, which I do, then Easter should bring us joy and hope.  I don't always understand the sufferings that go with life; yet, in suffering comes wisdom.  Perhaps that is what we are meant to do......come into ourselves......come into wisdom. 

Our Meyer Easter brunch was held on its usual Saturday, the day before Easter.   After mom past to her new life back in '86, this tradition started to help accommodate our families so that we could gather without leaving so quickly to celebrate Easter with our inlaws.  It gave us more time to hang out, and just be in the moment and enjoy our time together.  The 100 plus Easter eggs were filled with goodies;  hidden after we ate our traditional favorites of "white weenies", fried potatoes with milk gravy, egg casseroles, fried eggs, bacon, biscuits, pancakes and of course fruit salad.  We have to have some healthy options, don't we?  Then the additional meal was prepared a few hours later after the bruch food settled.  We had our baked ham, potato casserole, chips and relish tray, and let's not forget the healthy part - the salad.  We traditionally call them white weenies, but most people call them buckwish or bockwurst.   Not sure which one, but all I know is that one year our Frank, the Italian in-law, was respnsible for buying the white weenies.  Chrissy forgot to mention to him that the real name of this peculiar meat was buckwish.  Needless to say, when Frank asked for white weenies, the butcher gave him a puzzled look.  The Meyer family had a good laugh at Frank's expense that year. 


 Although I shed some tears leading to this event, knowing this would be the first of many Easters without my sister, I have hope and faith in new life beyond this one.  Thinking about this day approaching brought back so many fun memories.  I imagined Chrissy in her little Easter dress along with the rest of kids gathered around mom and dad.  We would make our trips to Granny's house (my mom's mom) and then to Aunt Louise's house on my dad's side, having our traditional Easter egg hunts.  I, myself, getting knocked over by the rush of the older kids on a mission.  Dad's mom had past on at a young age, way before I was born, so Aunt Louise took over those responsibilities on our Meyer side.  On the Lafser side there was the traditional finding of our Easter Shoe Box, which as we grew older, became one of my most  treasured holiday experiences.  Grandma wouldn't use the typical Easter baskets.   She would use shoe boxes filled with our favorite treats every year.  Picture, if you will, a shoe box filled with the fake Easter grass, a white hard-boiled egg (no color) with our names written on the egg and every year most of our names were traditionally spelled wrong.  We saw our grandparents on a weekly basis, but they never seemed to remember that "Kurt" was actually spelled with a "C", "Denny" was spelled "Deni" and I believe she spelled Chrissy's name using a "K".   Susie and I had the honor of having our names spelled right.  Now that I come to think of it.....she may have spelled Susie's name like "Suzy".  So I was the chosen one!  Along with the white egg would be the marshmellow egg covered in chocolate and some chocolate eggs and I think there may have been some Peeps in there, too.  We were sent off to look for these shoe boxes every year; even into our teen years, and what a treat that was!  We would laugh so hard being as old as we were, hunting for our baskets that Grandma loved to create.  My grandma did that every year for us until the day she died.  I know my older siblings had to be into their twenties.  It was so much fun!  It just goes to show that memories are worth so much so go make some yourselves.  Your families, your kids, your grandkids will be forever grateful.

"You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life."

                                             -Jiddu Drishnamurti 



 

I Love The Weeping Willow Tree

Most everyone I know experiences a recollection of their childhood when they catch a scent, a sound or vision in their daily lives.  It could be the smell of apple pie or a BBQ.  For others, it could be seeing a certain flower or hearing a particular song.  For me, one of those visions is the Weeping Willow tree.  Yesterday, somewhat melancholy, but I am grateful, as I was sitting on my deck looking out at our Weeping Willow in the backyard.  That tree reminds me of where I grew up, on Durness Drive in Glasgow Village.  Glasgow Village holds a tremendous amount of nostalgia from kickball to the "Oooga Man" to summer nights filled with adventure.  Peering out to our tree reminded me of Charlotte Dugan. (I think that was her name) Do any of you remember her?  If my memory is clear, Charlotte was sort of this earthy 1960's presence, one who may have tanned alot and had a full head of this dark, curly hair.  She seemed to be long and lean, but I was pretty short back then, and most everyone appeared tall to me......and that hasn't changed much.   I was very young, but she lived at the corner of Durness/Dornoch, and she was the free-spirited divorced woman who payed so much attention to the kids in the neighborhood.  For some reason, I remember a Weeping Willow in the front or backyard of her house, and seeing the one in my backyard brings back all those summers of the man who would sell slushes from the truck whom we called the "Oooga Man" because you knew when he was coming because his horn sounded like "Ahooooooooooga"!  Playing kickball on our street and loving it when you hit the ball over the big kids' heads, which was such a thrill.  Those sweaty nights of running around and playing in Miller's Field where we flew kites and played softball.  Well, I was sort of too young, so I remember watching more than playing.

Summer always reminds me of Chrissy because I envision her in this red two-piece swimsuit with her tanned skin at the age of four or five.  That girl would tan at the drop of a pin......I swear there was some Italian or African American blood in her.  Once the summer bell would ring, shoes were nowhere to be found as she walked barefoot around town.  Mom probably gave her too much leeway with her travels around the neighborhood, but then again, those were different times, weren't they?  Her hair would quickly turn blond after a few swims......and we would play whirlpool or stormy night in our backyard tin pool.  It seems so long ago, but those memories are unforgettable. 

So as this spring turns to summer; I can't help but think of those childhood memories, and I miss them with all my heart.  Wanting to see her and touch her face; knowing that she's here and we're laughing.  As I have learned so hesitantly; I see her through Maria's smile and mannerisms and in Frankie's laughter.  Through my senses, including my sixth sense I will see her and feel her.  I thank God for the Weeping Willow tree and all those summer memories, even through my heartache of missing her.

"Life is like an icecream cone:  Just when you think you've got it licked, it drips all over you!"