Once again I took a solo trip.

It was my first Mother’s Day weekend without my mom.  I knew it would be tough to endure.  I wanted to conquer it.  Make it somehow easier.  You know, make it light and matter-of-fact.  

"Oh, it’s mother’s Day and since my mother is dead I don’t have to cook brunch or buy a card or flowers.  It’ll be easy."  

I was trying to trick myself. 

I went backpacking with my Summit Sister, Laura.  I was going to go anyway…with or without her.  But as it was she came for one night and I had a night on my own.  So it worked out well.

We hiked up the Deschutes River from the state park.  It was unusually hot weather for spring.  Along the river it was tolerable, but by the time we had to march the old railroad road up along the black cliff walls, we were melting in the heat.  

There was no breeze.  

Our 30 pound packs grew heavier, the air was dry, the sun intense.  By the time we hit 6 miles, I was done. 

Spotting one of the outhouses that dot the river banks for the rafters, I shot down the steep embankment heading for shade.  All I could see was the river and trees and grass.  I longed for the cool of their canopy. Laura and I scrambled through the sage and tall grass, stumbling to the trees on the the river bank, climbing in under the branches onto the rocks; I shed my back pack and sat down with a sigh.  Soaking my bandanna and shirt in the river, I leaned back against my pack, enjoying the cool, wet cloth against my over heated skin.  

It was heaven.  

I shivered as my body readjusted and began to normalize.  

After a good long rest in our private oasis, we scouted out our best camping spot.

It was a sandy area by the river’s edge with trees and a large fire pit. I hung my Kammok,  we set up our tents and we were set, ready for a nice evening of calm, beauty and peace.  We collected fire wood, though we never lit a fire.  It was just too warm.  I swung lazily in my Kammok reading a good book.  

White birds, much like sea gulls, darted up and down the river, swooping high and low, around each other like children playing tag.  Wild Canadian geese sometimes floated by.  The river was lush and green all along its banks, with cliffs and jagged rock, sage and grass climbing steeply up each side. 

We took a nice, slow stroll exploring along the river banks in the cool of the evening.

Crickets began to sing.  The sun went down and the stars came out.  Exhausted from the day, we dozed on and off in our tents; popping our eyes open each time we rolled over on our mattresses looking for the Big Dipper which hung just above us in the night sky. We followed its nightly travel. And a train would rumble by in the pitch black night just on the other side of the river filling the dark with its noise for a time and then the rush of the river and crickets would take over again.

As I began to wake on Saturday morning, my mind was filled with memories of the last four months of my mother’s life.  I took this weekend away hoping to deal with my emotions of my first Mother’s Day without my mother on my own terms.  Without my control, the memories of her frail dying body lying on a rented hospital bed in her bedroom came rushing back, and once again, I wondered if I could have altered the outcome, if I could have done something different or better than I did.  My heart hurt, but my mind said I’d done my best.  

And once again, I let it go.

After drinking our marvelous coffee and eating breakfast, we went on a short 2 mile day hike up the river discovering two old abandoned box cars.  

Then Laura headed back to camp, so she could pack up, hike out and drive home to her family.  She was to celebrate her mother and be celebrated as a mother the following day.

 I was now completely alone and I continued on up the river for another two miles.  Every couple miles there was another outhouse and a pull out spot for rafters.  As soon as I saw one, I’d head down to the river to get out of the intense sun.  At about the 10 mile mark, I discovered the perfect grassy spot with multiple trees and a cool breeze.  I spent a long time soaking my feet and body in the icy water.  Listening to the river and wind in the trees, watching the “river gulls” play and scanning the cliffs for big horn sheep. 

I breathed in the peace.

On my way back to my camp, I crossed paths with a Boy Scout troop.   Young boys with giant packs on their backs and two men who were the leaders; baking in the heat, but acting, as men and boys often do, as if they were fine.  I privately worried about two of the boys who were obviously struggling, sending a quiet prayer on their behalf. We chatted for a few minutes and they continued on their way up river. 

As I returned to my “home”, I rejoiced knowing I could do whatever I wanted.  There was no one but me to consider.  So I dunked in the river, rearranged my tent and Kammok to better locations, grabbed my book and some snacks and swung up in my Kammok reading the rest of the afternoon away.  

It felt like paradise. 

Every once in a while, I’d look down at the sand and see the farewell note Laura had written there for me and smile.  

It was glorious.

Once again, the evening air filled with cricket song, the wind picked up, the sun went down, the stars came out and peace continued to flood my soul.  Although, I was suddenly startled by a large bull snake that decided to visit me at the river’s edge, I knew he meant no harm and I marveled at his beauty as he leisurely slithered away.  

I tried to sleep in my Kammok, but it was too windy with the sides whipping around, loud and un-rhythmic.  I ended up in my tent with the Big Dipper filling the mesh window smiling down on me throughout the night.  

I was utterly alone, with myself and my God. 

I have girlfriends who are worried about my solo trips, only because they love me and feel it isn't safe.  It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn't enjoy solitude or who isn't comfortable in the wild what the appeal is.  There is something about being alone in God’s Creation that is empowering.  I love taking care of my needs only.  I love having everything I need right there in my pack and if I don’t have what I need, I improvise or go without.  

It’s simple.  

It’s humble. 

It’s burden free. 

And though I am by myself, I don’t feel completely alone.  

I sense the eyes of God upon me constantly.

Sunday morning, Mother’s Day, appeared with cloud cover and cooler temperatures.  I relaxed all morning in my Kammok finishing my book, waving at the occasional rafter who floated by.  Often they acted surprised to see me.  By 11:30 am I was packed up and ready to hike the 6 miles out to my car.  

I said good-bye to my place and turned for the trek home. 

The pack felt right upon my back, my legs felt solid beneath me and I picked more flowers to tuck in my sun hat as I’d done on the previous days.  I felt beautiful and whole and strong and a new idea began to fill my mind, an idea of a possible future for Don and me.  

Was this where God was directing us?  

I was excited to share my thoughts with him soon.

Coming home to my family was joyful, filled with hope and peace and power.  

Jordyn fixed us a delicious dinner and gave me a pot of tulips.  Don had red wine waiting for me.  Josh and Jordyn made chocolate dipped strawberries. Jasmine had left a card and gift.  I had lengthy, loving conversations with my Joy and Jubilee. And we sat and ate and talked and drank and laughed and shared the evening away.  

I felt so loved.

And then I heard my brother’s voice message, wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day. The grief over the death of our mother was tangible in his voice.  

Once my tears began to flow, they wouldn't stop. 

This was what I had tried to avoid.  This was what I wanted to escape. I cried hard and I cried long missing my mother, knowing what she’d given me and how she’d failed me, sensing the hole that was left without her. Wishing I’d said more, had worked things out better with her, but knowing I did my best.  There would be no more opportunities. 

I ached for my brothers, my father, my children.  And I was surprised at my intense emotions.  I had gone away for the weekend doing what I loved so that this wouldn't happen.  

What was I thinking?  We cannot escape our fractured souls.  The brokenness is real and raw and painful.  It seems to take over for a time and once the tears were done, I fell into a deep sleep in my soft bed relishing the smoothness of my cotton sheets.

 And God once again patched my cracked soul while I slept.  

In the morning, I remembered who I am.  

Once again, I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a beautiful woman surrounded by a loving, healthy family created by a God who fills me with strength and hope and peace and a future.  

4.4 Years Old

"Mi Maw, come play marbles with me!"  I hear my dark haired grandson implore.  His curls framing his sweet face and dark, brown eyes.  

Giggles.

"Mi Maw, I want to swing!"  he yells as he darts across the grass, picking the lowest one, so that he can climb upon the rubber seat himself.

Giggles.

"Mi Maw, I had a very good day with you today. I love you." he quietly whispers in my ear, as I snuggle with him at bedtime just after we've said our prayers. 

And I look deep into his young heart, remembering my own son, Joshua.  He too was  4.4 years old. And then we discovered he was very sick.

And a sadness comes over me, as I try to remember him, before cancer, before the tumor invaded his little body.  I see his round chubby face, and straight, light brown hair. I hear his giggles and remember his energy, but they seem so far away.

Cancer has stolen so much from him.  It has not taken his life, but it has left him with physical damage and physical  limitations, daily challenges and daily reminders.  It has left him with anxiety and fear as he struggles to fit in and "do life".   It has left him with chronic pain, making it difficult to get up each morning and get going.  

Most heartbreaking of all, he lost his boyish innocence about life. 

He knows about death.  He lives with loss, everyday.  And so when I comfort him, by telling him he will see his sisters again, because he's sad they all went back home or back to school after the holidays, he stops me short.

"You don't know that mom.  Anything could happen to them at any time. They could die tomorrow."  

I say nothing, knowing he is right.  They could.

And I wish, he were whole again. I wish he didn't have to give himself growth hormone injections at night.  I wish he could go swimming and play contact sports.  I wish he didn't have to worry about activities that could cause him to become a quadriplegic like sledding and trampolines and snow-skiing and skate boarding.  I wish he wasn't afraid he could lose his sisters or his mom and dad at any moment.  

I wish, the knowledge of death wasn't so real for him.

I cozy up to my grandson, when he's slowed down for a bit, and start running my fingers through his black curls.  I feel his body relax next to mine.  

And I pray for his life, asking God to keep him whole.  

     

May his boyish innocence continue on, allowing him to jump in puddles.

God is scary and God is good.

*I use the pronoun “He” as I write of God, though I do not believe God's nature is just male.  God is both male AND female in nature.  There is no known pronoun appropriate for God.

God is scary and God is good.

He cannot be put in a box.  

He is mysterious.

He stood with the children of Sandy Hook as they cowered in the corner of their class room their teacher’s arms wrapped around them, desperately attempting to shield them, while bullets slammed into their bodies. And He wept.

  

He did not stop the shooter. 

He did not stop the bullets. 

But He was there.

I cannot wrap my mind around Him.

I can know some of Him, but not all of Him. 

He is just.  And total judgment will come at the end of the ages.

Free Will is His most powerful gift given to me. 

Every moment of every day.

How do I use this power?

God is good even if my four year old son is diagnosed with cancer.

Even if my teenage son takes his own life.

God is good,even if my twelve year old son has to have his leg cut off.

Cancer.

And later, half of his other foot.

God is good, even if my baby dies before she has a chance to be born.

None of these things are good.

But God is still good.

Life boils down to me and God. 

I do not understand Him.

I stand alone, stripped bare before Him.

And His LOVE overwhelms me.

NO, once again...

I took the call because I'd been waiting for it.  An innocent question to a neurosurgeon, my son's doctor actually.

"If it were my child, I would NOT allow him to go skiing.  It's too risky. My answer is NO."

Those were the words.  Once again, the hammer fell.

Once again...NO.

My tears fell.  The emotions so POWERFUL, I thought I would vomit.

I know his life was saved through chemo and radiation...but the cost has been great.

It never ends.

How do I tell a 12 year old boy that he should NOT ski?  It is too RISKY.
He has been LOOKING forward to this weekend, this time away with his father and other young men and their fathers for weeks now.

IT.IS.HIS.RIGHT.OF.PASSAGE.

"Mom, I am good at skiing!  I know I am!"

Son, your father will be with you at all times.  You will be on the bunny slope.  Yes, you are good, but we have to be cautious.  Remember your neck vertebra.  Watch out for those out of control snow boarders.

A simple, common activity turns into such agony.

Someone once said: oh take your son to Disneyland to celebrate!
NO Disneyland .  Many of the rides are too RISKY.   His neck is not normal, you know.

Josh, your vertebra in your NECK was eaten away by a terrible tumor.  We saved your life through  barbaric treatments.  And it damaged it even more.

"It's stable at this time."

BUT.YOU. ARE.ALIVE.

Hallelujah!

That should be enough.  But is it?

But NO...you CANNOT  spar in your Tae Kwon Do class.  It's too RISKY.

Tears stream down his face as his doctor tells him this.

And the neurosurgeon said, Josh if you were "hit" just once in the wrong place, or if you fell just right...you would be a quadriplegic paralyzed from the neck down  unable to breathe on your own and on a ventilator FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

IS.IT.WORTH.IT?

Josh...NO you cannot go swimming.  You have a tracheotomy. If you go under water...your lungs will fill with water in less than a second and you will drown.

No kayaking.  No boating.  No water skiing. NO, NO, NO!

Last summer at camp, the life guards panicked when Josh was in the pool.  I had to reassure them that I, his parent,  was watching him...closely.  You see, all of his middle school friends had decided to swim.  What was he to do?

NO you cannot go to the birthday party at the water park.

NO you cannot go to the church youth group at the Pump It Up jumping house.

I am being WISELY CAUTIOUS.

I'm sorry.  I am so sorry.

There are those who say, "be grateful"

 "God is good"
"count your blessings"

And I  am grateful. I do thank Him.
 I know.
 I am.

But I say...WALK IN MY SHOES.

It does not make it easier.  It does NOT take away the pain.

Once again the loss and the grief OVERWHELM me.


Josh has been and always will be in God's hands.

And he is alive.

But let me grieve, once again...this loss...

Taking a Break...

I sat in a dental chair while the hygienist cheerfully chatted away.  Asking me numerous questions about my life, I answered her honestly.  

After telling her about my five children, she asked many questions about my son, the impact of cancer on him, on his sisters, the family.  

Then she stopped, held her dental  instruments poised in the air, looked me in the eyes and asked, "How about you, momma?  Have you healed from all the trauma you have been through?"

Time stopped.  
And in that moment, I knew.

I HAVE NOT HEALED...

A few months later, I walked away from childhood cancer.  
It was what I needed to do.

I chose to quit my job helping families with bald, damaged children, raising money, networking resources.  I walked away from all volunteer work with the organizations that help these children.

There was too much sadness all around me.
I was exhausted. 

Years of giving.  
Years of serving from my heart, had taken their toll.

I had been grieving for eight years.
Grieving the diagnosis of my son.
Grieving the impact on his sisters.
Grieving the loss of nine year old Gage.
Grieving the loss of ten year old Lesly.
Grieving for children with limbs cut off by surgeons, hoping to save their lives.
And the newly diagnosed children never stopped coming.

Then the death of my mother.  
The suicide of a precious friend's son.  

Sadness overwhelmed me. 
I was exhausted.

So I walked away.
And I began to heal, just a bit. 

But the world continues in it's heaviness.  

While I was rocking my new born niece, a killer shot innocent people at a nearby mall.  A few days later, a killer entered a grade school and slaughtered Kindergarteners and their teachers.

I cannot escape the sadness.
I am exhausted.

I cannot watch the news.  
I cannot hear the details.
I cannot allow myself to connect to this pain too.

There is too much sadness all around me. 
I am exhausted.

I am working hard to grieve.  
I cannot add anymore weight.

I am exhausted on this black, stormy night.
And then I found this poem...

"For One Who Is Exhausted" by John O'Donohue
From: To Bless The Space Between Us

When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic, 
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like an endless, increasing weight.

The light in the mind becomes dim.
Things you could take in your stride before
now become laborsome events of will.

Weariness invades your spirit.
Gravity begins falling inside you,
Dragging down every bone.

The tide you never valued has gone out.
And you are marooned on unsure ground.
Something within you has closed down.
And you cannot push yourself back to life.

You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.
There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken in the race of days.

At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.
You have traveled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.

Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.

Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time. 
*******

I am looking for small miracles.
I am watching the rain.
I am trying to imitate habits of brightness.
I am sitting in silence.
I am lingering with friends of depth.
I am being excessively gentle with myself.

I am taking a break, knowing the healing will come, because of His faithfulness.