Today is one of those days that I have to be thankfull for the many gifts I have received from the Universe.
In times like this you have to be thankfull for the gifts we receive. Because those are the things that get us through our toughest times.
Today I am one step closer to being even happier and at peace with myself and my experience. My journey.
I am one step closer to recovery.
And feeling more at peace.
I started out my day remembering I no longer have my sister to call on the telephone. But quickly remembered she was always close by. She was only a thought, a glance at an old photograph, or a beautiful memory we shared together away. My favorite was one of the many goofy things we used to do together. Despite our 14 year age difference. There were many things.
I am so greatfull for the fact that I was the younger of the two sisters, only siblings, and I had my life filled with these memories. It is an honour to have known her all my life. It is the one gift I am so truly honoured to receive. Honoured.
As Heidi's sister, I was able to witness things, and regretfully, judge things a different way. It was through her illness and death did I get to know her as others did. It was her greatest work of art. She was an artist, you know. Many people who knew her, knew that about her. And her life was quite the most exquisite piece one could ever witness. No worldly gallery could possibly display it and give it full justice. There is no media created to capture the lightness of her being. It was breathtaking and inspiring framed by grace and despair.
Jesus said something about whatever he had done, we would be able to do and greater. Heidi is someone who proved that and then some. She had lifted the hearts of so many. She had eased their pain in so many ways. And comforted many. Yup, she was a saint. I, her sister.
I tried to follow her foot steps. However, my feet were two sizes larger. And I really liked driving motorcycles!
And that's life!
I was given the gift of having 3 children by ceasarian section. She had the same scar. For 3 multiple myomectomies. She was never able to have children.
When she was preparing to adopt her long awaited baby she prepared a beautiful baby's room. It was well equiped with a crib with all the lace and frills. A white bassinet and in the corner of the room sat an already in progress teddy bear tea party. With one empty chair.
She looked at an empty crib. Every night she went to bed. Thinking that she will never be a mother. A mom.
I prepared for every pregnancy with watching the little purple lines cross on the little plastic stick I just peed on. Which, by the way, was always preceded with some kind of hormonally fueled argument with my sister. Even after the first time that happened I knew I was pregnant. My sister and I would have some kind of really odd unreasonable argument. Usually it was my not so reasonable side took over. And after I would hang up I would sit there and wonder where the hell that came from????! And then start counting the days. "Uh, oh. Um. Honey? Go to the drug store and get me a pregnancy test? Please??? I don't think we are going to need two. But, you decide."
My last pregnancy I didn't have an argument with Heidi. We just cried together.
Her empty womb echoed our cries. But the echoes were only muffled by the tumors growing in her lungs. A silent scream of "I am dying" came from her heart. "I don't want to die. I love my life!", is what she cried out from her bed on her last New Years Day. But isn't that what most of us tell ourselves everyday? Or at least shouldn't we at least be saying "I love my life!"? Every moment we have? How many moments do we really have to consciously sit there and say,"I love my life!" I have written that on my shower wall with my family's bath time crayons. Along with other inspirational sayings, like "Remember to wash behind your ears." Hey! I can't be everywhere all the time, and remember to tell them little things like that. I would rather to remember to tell them that I love them and take the time it needs to show them that. And that is my full time job. And another gift that I am greatfull for.
At least writing on the bathroom wall will inspire them to read. Eventually they will start wondering what the heck mom is writing on the wall this week. And at least they might become semi-literate. You never know, it might be a secret code for a map to the family treasures! Yeah, right.
Maybe I will start writing recipes on the wall with the hopes that one or two of them will learn how to read and cook. I will have to remember to try that soon. Maybe Tiatoo will start to pitch in with a paw in the kitchen.
I went on with my day. I handled my sleep deprived, grief burdened parents like the the thin slice of processed cheese of this generation sandwich that I am. It used to be a ham and cheese generation sandwich, however, the meat of this sandwich was already eaten up by life. By cancer.
They are truly forlorn without her. She was their love child. I was hers. She was my mom. She was my sister. She was my friend. She was our meat. She was Heidi.
I was thankfull today that I still have my parents, and they still come to help me any way they can. Having them to spend time with even if it means dealing with their quirks is important to me. It's important for my children. But sometimes I sit there and look up and say, "See! This is how I live!", knowing full well my sister is looking back down at me and laughing at my daughters' recent over-production of poop. And my mom, all the while I clean and change said product of my female poop master's butt, telling me how I have to feed her more, "she's too skinny". My mom doesn't seem to realize that there is obviously something making it past my daughter's mouth that produces so much fecal matter in just one sitting. Pardon the pun. But if I feed her any more, I am going to have to put a serious effort into potty training the Queen of Poopdom. The kid is skinny because she metabolizes her food very well. And she in her terribly, terrific two's. I am going to enjoy those tweens, teens, and twenties. At least she'll have trained herself through the motivation of sheer peer pressure by then. Hopefully.
By the way... Trin... When you read this in your tweens, teens or twenties... Assuming you did learn how to read through mommy's rantings on the shower walls... Thanks for that lovely corn laden piece of art you created for me this afternoon. That was a real gift. Lovely fragrance too. I was impressed. So was Opa in the next room.
As evening wore on and chances for a homemade dinner became as likely as our winning tonight's jackpot lottery win, I became ever so greatfull for the left over roast from two nights ago still sitting in our fridge. Its amazing how a reformed vegetarian can be so filled with gratitude for two hunks of meat sealed in a reused plastic take-out container. Not very appetizing but it was a foundation for something nutritious. Yup, that's what I told myself at least. I was greatfull, nonetheless. I didn't have to think too much to slap something together that my kids will eat. There was always that chocolate cake Trin and I made earlier today when I needed to distract her with something constructive to do. Empty calories, but at least I don't have to worry about my mom saying that Trin was getting too skinny. And I will have solid proof that my kid really does eat.
I miss my sister. It's been six weeks. Every Friday night marks another week since that night. At 9:20 pm, or somewhere there abouts, I remember how her hand felt in mine. I remember how she slipped, so beautifully, away. How her hand was cold long before her heart was. Those final moments, the final strokes of her paint brush.
Or so I had thought.
Today, I was reminded again how her hand was still busy working the final touches. Those tiny nuances that add light to accentuate the colour of a leaf. Her life.
Her life after her life.
I stood looking at the reflection in the window of my screen door. I stood remembering the few moments on Christmas Eve when I believed she is still alive. I mean, still in her physical form. I saw her standing outside my door. I saw her smiling, with long blonde, natural hair. She was happy and free to be where ever she wanted to be. She was leaving my house. At about the same time she would have left all the years before. She looked so beautiful!
As beautiful as life.
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