To Wait is Often Harder

Teach us, O Lord, the disciplines of patience,
for to wait is often harder than to work.
-Peter Marshall

Those of you who know me can understand my affinity for the above plea. I'm a girl who likes a plan, a task, a mission. I'm a doer and a juggler. I like lots of plates in the air.

Encouraging, understanding and very-wise friends advise me to:
Stop talking so you can hear your inner voice. Take cues from Erin who will guide you. Listen for the Holy Spirit. Be gentle with yourself. It's too soon. Rest. You don't have to do anything now. WAIT.

That genteel inner voice, that I must sometimes strain to hear, is often drowned out by the competition between the Sane Mary and the Crazy Mary who also reside in my head. It can be a very crowded house, with each dweller battling for top billing.

I know and agree that I need time to rest, recover and process everything, but it is HARD FOR ME to do that, as one who is so accustomed to being active, involved and with direction. For the first time in thirty years I don't have a job. Erin has moved to a place of peace, my other children have matured into independent, self-sufficient individuals, and I left my place of employment to care for Erin. Sometimes there appear to be signs, then they're snatched. Where in heaven's name do I go from here, to fulfill my self-proclaimed need to live a purposeful existence based on what I've just been through?

As many of our contemporaries experience the "empty nest" stage, Dave and I kick ours up exponentially because our college-aged child who has recently left home is NOT COMING BACK for spring break! Parents, please try that shoe on when you get impatient with your kids and utter the words, I can't wait until (insert name) goes back to school because she's driving me crazy! We are living an exaggerated version of that phase of every parent's life, as we add a block to the already leaning tower of empty-nest stage, by topping it with child-gone-forever syndrome.

Throughout the three years, I developed a relationship with Erin that most mothers don't have with their daughters. Obviously, I would never have chosen this avenue to foster this kinship, but thankfully, realizing how special it truly was, I absolutely cherished every minute of it.


We were forced to spend an inordinate amount of time together, due to hospital stays, home schooling, hours spent in the car driving to and from treatments, waiting in rooms for appointments and scans... TOGETHER, we stared down the lethal adversary. It was typically just the two of us. Dave had to go to work each day - to take care of the minor (hah) details of bills and insurance coverage. Chris, Sarah and Matt are all self-reliant with living expenses of their own, and had to work as well. So I was the one with Erin day to day. I WANTED it to be me, and by virtue of it BEING me the majority of the time, I EXPERIENCED IT ALL. So, experiencing it ALL was my LIFE. In situations where a child is sick, it is most often the mother who assumes the role of primary care-giver. That is not to say the rest of the family wasn't involved. They most definitely were and as previously mentioned, each member maintained their exclusive relationship with Erin.

I found it interesting that, as time went on, Erin always referred to situations by saying "we" as opposed to "I":
WE have to go for chemo. WE have labs on Tuesday. WE have to have a transfusion on Friday after school...
And now our dynamic duo IS no more.
The house is silent! I want to hear her voice. Be patient. WAIT.

Now that the heads-on assault has quieted, I feel the bombardment of the raining shrapnel. Without the day-to-day focus I had when Erin was here, the force of the fall-out often fells me. I had an important, emotionally engrossing job; take care of my daughter, no matter what the circumstance required. It urged me forward each day, especially during the very difficult portions of those three years when I just put my head down and kept going because if I stopped to REALLY THINK about what was happening to her - due either to the insidious cancer or the noxious treatment, take your pick - I would have been frozen with the inability to get up and go on. The war is over, and I'm pummeled with aftershocks as experiences flash back in random and often unexpected bursts of for-a-time forgotten or buried memories that resurface now in the deafening silence.
Breathe Crazy Mary. Breathe.

Sometimes I HATE the phrase (insert name of the person who died - in this case ERIN) would WANT you to be happy. I KNOW THAT!!
But sometimes she just doesn't get what she wants because she's not here!!

I have to believe she went straight into the waiting arms of my mother in heaven, and that's a good thing, but I'm left here on this earth to sludge through this mucky path without a roadmap. I want my mother and I want my daughter! I'm a generational bridge, with both of my moorings uprooted. I'm flapping about, blindly groping at times, and learning to reach upward toward the heavens with both arms now instead of just one to hold their hands. Eventually I'll gain my balance but for now, my equilibrium is way off. My mother died five years ago at the impressive age of 92. Erin died when she was only 18. At the age of 51, I STILL want my mother when things frighten me. She was one of the finest examples of the essence of patience.
I dig deep to remember all she taught me.
Stop talking Mary. Listen to your mother.

This is not the life-path I had in mind. I was in no way prepared for the challenge of a child with cancer, let alone a child who was not going to survive cancer. Now I'm given the task of figuring out how to live without that child who was snatched from my grasp. I didn't LOSE her, but that's subject for another post. I'm certain no parent is equipped with these abilities. So, I've worked hard to face the music, the challenges, and little by little I know I've become stronger, bolder, DEEPLY empathetic toward others in our position and, for the sake of survival, I've developed the ability to become blissfully numb when the situation demands it.

I truly understand the necessity of this time in my life, knowing I ABSOLUTELY deserve it after all I've been through. I vow to not shortchange myself. I will work hard to LISTEN and I will say this prayer over and over, as I chart the map of my future, seeking my true north.

Teach ME, O Lord, the disciplines of patience, for to wait is often harder than to work.