I understand that some level of grief will likely be a part of my life for – well, forever. So, I do what I can to find a way to move forward as best as I can.
I’ve joined a variety of grief support groups, which have been helpful. I’ve started this blog as an outlet for my thoughts and emotions. And, I’ve connected on a one-to-one basis with others who walk this same painful journey.
Recently, though, I received good counsel from a highly unlikely source: me. Rather, the other me … the Sherrie of years ago, the mom before she lost one of her sons to cancer at the age of just 23.
Continue reading “LIVE!”
I know we’re not supposed to “compare” grief and rank them. I know that.
Yet, as I consider the depth of my broken heart, my mind sometimes does exactly that before I can stop it. And when I believe someone else’s loss could possibly be even greater than my own, I wonder how can they bear it?
In my own life, there is someone whose grief, I believe – in many ways – could outrank mine.
It’s the beautiful, strong, and vibrant love of Ian’s life and fiancé, Lei.
Yes, I am Ian’s momma and it’s easy for me to believe that no one (besides God) could love him more than I do. But, the truth is, if there was such a thing as a loss-meter, I think Lei’s grief would easily measure up to mine (if not surpass it) because her loss comes at such a young age.
Yet, in the months that have passed, I’ve watched Lei handle her grief with strength, grace and wisdom beyond her years.
Continue reading “The Gift of Lei”
When Dr. Vassalli told us that malignant tumor cells were found in the biopsied lymph node of Ian’s neck, it seemed that all the world should have stopped at that moment and taken notice. But it did not.
For our family, life was in slow motion for about half a day as we processed the impossibly bad news. Then, just as suddenly as we were given the life-changing information, we were thrust into a whirlwind of appointments, conversations, and decisions.
Within a few days, we found ourselves shuffling through notes written on bits of paper, within the margins of books, on the back of brochures, and on our electronic notepads. It quickly became an overwhelming task to keep track of who was who and what came next.
To keep our sanity, I grabbed a yellow college-ruled notebook that was in my desk drawer and added tabs to segment the pages into sections for “Notes,” “To Do’s,” and “Appointments.” I consolidated all our notes and talked to Ian about the new plan of attack. We agreed that anytime he or I would speak with a doctor, nurse, insurance representative, disability coordinator, or any of the myriad of others now in our life, we would add notes to the notebook.
Continue reading “The Yellow Notebook”
It had been 3 agonizing, mind-numbing months since Ian passed away when I decided I needed to do something outside of myself – something that allowed me to replace a bit of his kindness in the world. I searched for a community service outlet to honor Ian’s memory and then joined a group of volunteers that delivers meals to homes of the aged and ailing.
Training was provided in the form of a ride-along with an experienced volunteer. When we visited the last home on what would be my weekly Friday route, my trainer told me that this elderly recipient had no family left. Neighbors checked in on Marilyn routinely and she got this vital meal service but she was otherwise on her own. Marilyn is 96 years old.
On the following Friday, I managed to make it through my delivery route without getting lost. Not bad for the first time. When I pulled up to my final stop, Marilyn’s house, my trainer’s words rang in my ears…she has no family. My heart broke and I temporarily forgot about my own heartbreak. Emotions from Ian’s passing were still so raw at that time. In fact, driving to my route earlier that same morning, I looked hard into the clear blue sky and searched the clouds for some type of sign from God…from Ian. Nothing. As I drove down the freeway, I cried out to God that I desperately needed a sign that Ian was with him and that he was okay. Continue reading “The Message”
I am on a thousand-mile journey. My shoes are worn out and my flask is empty. The sun is beating down on me. I want to give up, yet I continue to take one tiny step at a time. I don’t know what propels me forward in this desolate place. Is it my faith in God and his promises for a reunion one day? Is it out of love for dad, Zach and other family members who loved you so much? Or, is it the memory of you battling through one of the toughest situations imaginable and never giving up. You never gave up. How can I?
Continue reading “To Share is To Heal”