Grief and Anniversaries

I live with grief every day. It's in my bones. Some moments, it feels like  the thing that will suffocate me, but mostly it is the thing that has brought more compassion and sensitivity into my life. It doesn't define me, but it has shaped my life in more ways than I can count.

Out of the six people in my nuclear family, I'm the only one left. It was my mother, father, sister's Linda and Lori, my brother Mark and me.

Lori passed away from Leukemia just before her eighth birthday.

My father passed away from cancer in the mid '90's.

My little brother Mark was killed when he was leaving a client's home and his pickup truck was hit by a train in 1997. He was 24 years old.

My sister Linda lost her very short, very hard battle with breast cancer in 2010.

My mother lost her battle with cancer eight months later in May of 2011, fourteen years ago today. Today is one of those days where the grief visits and reminds me that it is still here, even if it has been a bit quiet lately.

I've said it before. My mother is one of the most inspirational people I have ever known.

With three other children at home, my mother cared for my sister Lori as she bravely battled Leukemia. In the end, Lori's little body couldn't win the fight. Although she was prepared to leave this earth, the rest of us weren't. My mother had a funeral for her daughter while she managed her own grief along with her three other children's sadness. She did this as my father's alcoholism escalated while he was in his own grief. Unfortunately, beer brought out his fists, too.

In one of his drunken rage's, my father kicked her out of our family home for the nth time. She made a plan with her siblings to get us out of the dysfunction and we left the country. My aunts and uncles saved our lives that day. I'm forever grateful to them for helping us escape that life. I know in my heart that things would be much different had we stayed.

My mother walked through the fire of domestic violence and not only survived, she flourished. She created a beautiful, healthy home for Linda, Mark and me. She worked so hard as a single mother to instill independence and education in us so that we never put ourselves in the same position she was in all those years ago.

On July 17, 1997, the doorbell rang at her house. We had all moved out at that point and my aunt was visiting. A police officer had come by to give her notification that Mark had been killed. She crumbled. We all did. We spent the next several years learning to live with grief as it moved back into our hearts again.

We eventually learned how to smile again. Grief still lived with us, however, over the years it had become less invasive.

In April, 2008, my mother found a lump in her neck. A biopsy told us that it was cervical cancer that had spread up her body, through her lungs and settled in her neck. She had radiation and chemotherapy. We were devastated but optimistic. She was diligent in her food, kept herself healthy and completed her treatment. At one point, she went into remission and we were ecstatic.

As anyone who embarks on the cancer journey knows, it is all consuming. There is not a moment that it does not invade your thoughts like, well, like a cancer. Her health was the leading topic in all conversations.

In November of 2009, our family was dealt another blow. Linda was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer. It was a particularly fast growing and deadly cancer. She had a double mastectomy and chemotherapy. She fought hard as it ravaged her body. It was barbaric and cruel. Ten months later, we attended her funeral.

My mother escaped domestic violence, buried three children,  and fought cancer. She also remained resilient, positive and woke up every day with the purpose of living the best life she could. Her cancer ultimately won and she passed away on May 18, 2011.

I know that I am a more empathetic, sensitive and compassionate person because of my grief. I know the grief is strong because the love was strong. We had a beautiful family, full of love, respect, kindness and laughter. We were more than family, we were friends. We were so very blessed.

Today, I'm allowing grief to sit with me for a minute. I feel like if I welcome it, it won't try to suffocate me. Maybe we can sit together and honor this beautiful, strong, remarkable woman in the only way she deserves... with love.