Of Ribbons, Roses and Unexpected Responses

Each day of the three months, since December 18th when Erin passed away, has brought an overwhelming sense of disequilibrium. The world has traveled its dictated orbit; time marching without missing a beat. The dynamic change in seasons is occurring, with winter's harshness fading and spring budding on the horizon.
Somewhere in the earth's natural rhythm there should be a blip, a hesitance, because Erin has been gone for three months! Shouldn't this disturb something? How I've longed to hear the sound of her voice. It's wrong...

On December 19th, we awakened to the sight of red roses a friend had strewn about our front yard; their rich red petals, thorny stems and brilliant green leaves stippling the white blanket of snow that covered the ground, creating a palpable and vivid contrast.




Leafless trees, bedecked with flowing white ribbons, lined the street, a gesture of recognition and respect, a gift from thoughtful neighbors whose idea was carried forth, down the blocks to the school and church grounds.
(Click on the image to the left to enlarge and see the striking contrast of the red rose in the background snow.)








Each tree on the property's perimeter rose in silent reverence, with white streamers fluttering in the chilly air, standing ready as we processed to church; these pines, soldiers at rapt attention.

The snow fell gently in the morning on December 18th, an icy handful carried from the back yard by Chris and placed in Erin's hand as we surrounded her, waiting. It stopped for a time as morning hours waned to late afternoon. It commenced again, almost cautiously, soon after Erin peacefully left this earth at 4:40pm, and then, gaining momentum through the night and continuing in earnest throughout the next several days, it seemed to announce her ongoing presence amongst us with authority.


An apt observation of Erin, the words written in a card expressing sympathy - "One thing that struck me was Erin's love of snowflakes and winter. It shows so much of her character and strength. Summer is easy to love, winter is only for the brave. The colors are gone, it is gray outside, but a snowflake is a gentle reminder of God's majesty, each one unique and special like Erin." - thank you, such poignant words.

In the darkness this past Tuesday evening, Dave and I walked in silence to each tree on the block, snipped the ribbons from the trunks and discarded them. The brilliant whiteness had faded. They'd weathered the winter and had become tattered, gray, tired... bedraggled. It was time for them to be removed.
Be strong. Walk forward. When there is no wind, row!

Yesterday afternoon while hiking the woods with Keenan, I saw the fresh white of spring snowdrops pushing through the soil that had slept, barren for months.
The white of purity. New growth. Renewal.

The forest path has an offshoot lane, taking one to the street that leads to Bronswood, where Erin is buried. Keenan and I took that turn yesterday, and as we reached the road winding into the old cemetery, lined with still-leafless oaks, my soul filled with a deep sense of longing, missing, yearning.

Just exactly as we climbed the hill from the road to her resting place, my phone rang. I typically don't even bring my phone let alone answer it when I'm there, but I pulled it out of my pocket and saw the caller was a kindred spirit, a true soul mate, a mother whose 18-year-old daughter is currently in the head-to-head with her lethal opponent. She was calling to tell me their roller coaster had taken the plunge; painful news, fear, disappointment, uncertainty, flailing... Oh God, my heart ached. I could feel every shred of anguish for them, with them.

When our conversation ended, I sat under the bough of the pine that stretches over Erin, on the damp earth, spongy from the thaw of snow. Heaving, gulping sobs shook me to the core. I cried for my friend. I cried for her beautiful young daughter. I cried for Erin and I cried for myself. Sick, just sick about the ravages, the havoc of this atrocious disease, this cancer.

Finally I was able to take a breath. Slowly I allowed my heart to settle.
My body soaked in the warmth of the sun. I saw the brilliance of the clear blue sky. I heard the harmony of birds chirping and wind chimes ringing through the trees. I felt the soft breeze on my face.
Keenan's body, always close, his head gently resting on my leg, panted with steady rhythm.

Inhale. Exhale. Wait. Feel. Sense.

And I listened very carefully and I heard Erin's voice, clear as a bell, saying in her ever-straightforward manner, I'm FINE mom!

No more scans.
No more treatment.
No more surgeries.
No more pain.
No more physical wreckage.
Relief.
Peace.