Tumbleweed and Alligator
​Thoughts and Ramblings of a West Texas Native and a Cajun Poser
The Race is Over
April 22, 2023
The quietness here is deafening but engulfs me with a peaceful serenity. Where I am this morning, physically and geographically, is not where my mind and spirit have been in the last month. When I leave this little lakeside cabin with the tick-tock of a kitchen clock, adding cadence to my typing, I will take with me what I came to gather – peace and strength.
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Ed is gone. His earthly body died around 11:30 pm on March 20, my time – after midnight, March 21, Hospice time. Leading up to that hour were a few days of complete dread, fear, hope, and finally - release. In rapid progression, Ed, Dad and Pop-pop stopped eating, stopped initiating conversation, and slept most of the time. All were aware that the limited time we had together was closing in on us. Like running a race, you set your pace at the start and then when you see the end, you have a burst of energy, and sprint across the finish line -- winning. I know for certain that he didn’t leave without my saying I love you a thousand times, sealed with a gentle kiss good-bye, and a promise that I would be ok.
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When I started writing the Cancer Chronicles, I knew how this journey would end. Sprinkled with emotions and perspective – from fear to hope, from confusion to comedy, and from pain to peace, I felt the writings would serve me and others as an avenue for release and/or gain. We all hoped and prayed that the story would end happily. A wise nurse said, “What we go through, we grow through.” That is where I am – growth.
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Grief presents us with a mixed bag of emotions and behaviors to equip each as they move toward their own healing. But there is no wrong way to grieve; that’s what they all say. Yet, when you ask the one who is grieving, they will confess that others are compelled to submit a better way, a more appropriate way, a more effective way, based on their experience, or based on a perception. This can be useful and can ease the pain. But, when you bring into the mix your own set of family dynamics, it adds a wrinkle you weren’t ready for.
Grief is extremely personal – or personalized, and we tend to move through it alone, with our own stamp of ownership. We retreat, planting our flag firmly on the shaky ground we are ready to defend. “It’s my process, and you cannot commandeer it!” When the people/family from your circle of grief are grieving the same loss, their words and actions coming through their own process can be particularly painful, sometimes shocking, and potentially destructive -- not only to your process, but to the relationship(s). Realizing that they are also grieving requires forgiveness and understanding. That’s hard. When you can’t swim, you can’t teach someone else to. When you’re consumed by your own pain, you can’t always help someone else through theirs.
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Through it all, and with it all, there was, and is God. Without His love, mercy and protection, there would be no purpose to any of this. This journey is over, but the lessons and insight we gained along its path are not. What began with fear, ends with peace.
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Let this be the last page of the Cancer Chronicles, and the first page of the new voyage.