unite and conquer

I ran across this quote today and it took my breath away a little bit:

"Memory is the sense of loss, and loss pulls us after it. God Himself was pulled after us into the vortex we made when we fell, or so the story goes. And while He was on earth He mended families. He gave Lazarus back to his mother, and to the centurion he gave his daughter again. He even restored the severed ear of the soldier who came to arrest him -- a fact that allows us to hope the resurrection will reflect a considerable attention to detail. Yet this was no more than tinkering.

Being man He felt the pull of death, and being God He must have wondered more than we do what it would be like. He is known to have walked upon water, but He was not born to drown.

And when He did die it was sad -- such a young man, so full of promise, and His mother wept and His friends could not believe the loss, and the story spread everywhere and the mourning would not be comforted, until He was so sharply lacked and so powerfully remembered that his friends felt Him beside them as they walked along the road, and saw someone cooking fish on the shore and knew it to be Him, and sat down to supper with Him, all wounded as He was.

There is so little to remember of anyone -- an anecdote, a conversation at table. But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh, and that the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with dreaming, habitual fondness, not having meant to keep us waiting long,"

- Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010: Happy Birthday

It would have been Chris's 41st birthday today.  Happy Birthday, Chris.  This is one of my favorite pictures of her, sent to her parents by her aunt, I think.  Very her.

This is the first of her birthdays, and of a whole host of holidays and special occasions that the family will have to go through without their precious mom, wife, daughter, sister, relative.  This day has to have been incredibly difficult, but the prayers and remembrances from her community of caring people will undoubtedly help.  Nothing can take their pain away, but we can remind them that she, and they, are not forgotten.  If you have the time and the inclination, please feel free to dash off a quick email or make a call to let them know you care. 

We will have some information soon about a summer walk/run in Chris's memory.  Please check back for details.

March 8, 2010: The End

Wow, my heart is pounding.  Just one more response I hadn't counted on.  This is the last post of this chapter of this blog.  It began on July 6, 2009, in the days after Chris was diagnosed with Acute Myelogenous Leukemia as a way to update the community on her progress fighting her disease.  We had no way of knowing where this journey would end.  Along the way, many family and friends, both new and old, wrote, read and commented here.  It stands as a tribute to the awesome power of caring community and Chris's heart.  While it will stay online indefinitely, and we will continue to remember her here, it will in the future focus more on communicating her legacy, in the form of updates and photos of the boys and news about fundraisers and other awareness projects about leukemia.  But for this last one of this chapter, I'm going to beg your indulgence.  This one is for Chris, and me, really. 

And I'm finding it so hard to write.  I've been avoiding it for weeks.  Naturally.  Because this means it's really over.  There is no more to do here for her.  I've had the luxury of putting off this final chord in a way that the family and friends that formed Chris's every day have not.  I live out of town; I have for years been separated from Chris and her family, no longer part of their every days.  But for the first 18 years of my life, I was with Chris almost six days of every week.  When I look at pictures of her as a young girl I'm reminded of when we were closest.  I'm mourning in Kodachrome, it seems.

Sometimes when we experience someone's death, the hit is instant, clear and palpable.  We know exactly what they meant to us and we are thrown quite directly into the wretched depth of mourning.  But sometimes when you lose someone, it takes a little while to work out what the loss of them means.  Maybe it's just me, but this is the territory I've been covering over these last weeks.  It's been unexpectedly messy and confusing to mourn her.  Maybe I'm just messy.  I can't imagine Chris going through it like this.  I feel like she'd be so much more, I don't know, organized about it.  I'm not proud to say that I've been mean to my kids and husband and prone to crying at seriously inopportune times (grocery store checkout; not pretty) as well as prone to denial. 

Part of my confusion is because I wasn't part of Chris's every day life as an adult.  Why am I so knocked down?  I hadn't counted on this.  We'd grown into such different lives; we didn't see each other every day.  As we grew older, people in our class began to rediscover each other, which I'm grateful for.  But that wouldn't explain why in these last weeks and months I've been so . . . plowed under.  Devastated.  Why is my concept of what my own life is about so shaken and redirected? 

What did Chris mean to me? 

I've been relentlessly returned to this memory of a dress rehearsal for one of our elementary school plays.  We were little girls then.  I, for one, could not have been more ridiculously excited about the whole affair.  Costumes, scenery, lines . . . think of your average seven year-old Halloween fairy enthusiasm and multiply by 12.  As directed, we lined up outside the cafeteria waiting to enter the "backstage."  I rushed up at the last minute, all flustered.  Chris was already there, waiting, cool as a cuke.  I was fully decked in some absurd costume, certainly, but most importantly, wearing gobs of my Mom's old makeup.  Chris wasn't wearing any makeup at all.  My juvenile brain did not compute my friend foregoing this golden opportunity to cake her face like a miniature jezebel.

"Chris, aren't you wearing any makeup?" I asked, breathless, incredulous!  Her answer is hard-coded into my memory.

As she flicked away an imaginary something from her thumb, she said, "not a speck."  Not a speck.  Not a speck of artifice.  Not even a teeny, tiny microscopic bit of inauthenticity.  And it is the miracle of this process of writing that - literally, as I type these words - it is dawning on me that this memory buzzes round my mind because it precisely exemplifies how Chris often presented the perfect counterpoint to my view of the world. 

To wit:  makeup is great fun< . . . >makeup is silly. 

Also:  I still haven't found what I'm searching for< . . . >I know what I want out of life. 

And:  life is for taking risks< . . . >life is about being grounded and secure. 

Etc. 

I've said it here before:  Chris knew who she was.  She got the memo on what her life was about really early on and didn't waste a minute of her precious time on Earth.  And we have lived different lives.  Nonetheless, she is woven into me.  I present us as a study in contrasts.  But she is a part of me, in a way that only happens when you're confined to the same tiny town in the era before cheap travel, cell phones, internet and cable television.  Our gang had each other as influences most of all.  Certainly, it's part of why she stayed in the same small village where we were born to raise her own family.  It's why I go back more and more as I get older.  And why I feel like a part of me has been torn away.

I don't mean to idealize these bygone days.  Our little bubble was an aspect of the 70's and 80's and the small town where we spent our youth together.  But it is true of everyone we grew up with, in a way that it won't be for my own children:  I wear my childhood friends like a garment, close to my skin and so soft I rarely notice.  Chris is one of the softest threads of all.  She tells me: 

be proud of who you are,

hold close to your family no matter what, and

follow your dreams, whatever they may be.

Thank you, dear friend, for all you have done for me.  And for all you still do, every day.  I was so lucky to have known you. 

"He who walks with the wise grows wise, but a companion of fools suffers harm." -Proverbs 13:20.

 

________________________________

Please continue to hold Chris's family in your thoughts and prayers, especially over these next few months.  Chris's 41st birthday would have been March 16th.  Her 20th wedding anniversary would have been in August.  These days will undoubtedly be exceedingly difficult for the family, but every day is its own battle with the grief of unfathomable loss.  Please reach out to them in whatever ways you are able.  They are so grateful for everyone's continued support and companionship.

March 1, 2010

OUR CHRIS IS NO LONGER WITH US. VERY HARD TO ACCEPT.  BUT OUR MEMORIES WILL KEEP US GOING.  UNCLE GEORGE AND AUNT PHYLLIS AND GREG HAVE A LOT OF MEMORIES.

CAN REMEMBER WHEN SHE WAS BORN. A DARLING LITTLE GIRL WITH CURLY HAIR.  ON HER SECOND CHRISTMAS WE BOUGHT HER A LITTLE RED TRICYCLE. WE WOULD SPEND EVERY CHRISTMAS WITH HER FAMILY.  BEING TOGETHER MEANT A LOT TO CHRIS.

IT WAS UNDERSTANDABLE WHY SEE LOVED THE RIVER SO MUCH. SHE STARTED CAMPING AT 3 MONTHS OLD. SLEEPING IN HER NANA'S AND PAP'S LITTLE CAMPER (THAT NANA THOUGHT WAS THE HILTON). SHE LOVED IT.

FOUR YEARS LATER HER SISTER AND COUSIN GREG WERE BORN.   SUMMER WAS A GREAT TIME AT THE RIVER WHILE THEY LEARNED TO SWIM,FLOAT AND JUMP OF THE DOCK INTO THE ARMS OF THEIR PARENTS. THEN LATER SOME WATER SKIING.

WHEN THEY GOT OLDER AND MARK CAME INTO THE PICTURE, THE FOUR OF THEM WOULD SIT AT OUR PICNIC TABLE AND PLAY ALL KINDS OF GAMES.  CHRIS AND GREG LOVED GAMES.

I CAN REMEMBER ONE SUMMER - SHE MUST HAVE BEEN 11 OR 12 - WE TOOK HER WITH US TO DUTCH WONDERLAND AND THEN TO A PHILLIES GAME (YES SHE WAS A PHILLY FAN BACK THEN).  WE STAYED AT THE HOTEL BEHIND THE  STADIUM AND THEY HAD A GREAT TIME IN THE POOL.  THE PITTSBURG PIRATES WERE STAYING THERE ALSO.   WE REMEMBER SEEING WILLIE STARGELL RIDE INTO THE LOBBY ON HIS BICYCLE. PHIL GARNER AND KENT TEKULVE  WERE THERE TOO.   (I HAVE PICTURES OF THEM WITH CHRIS AND GREG.  SOME DAY I WILL FIND THEM.).

ONE THING THAT STICKS IN MY MIND WAS AFTER JENN CAME HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL. FOR CHRISTMAS WE BOUGHT THEM AN ATARI GAME FOR THE TV. CHRIS JUST SAT THERE LOOKING AT IT AND THINKING. FINALLY I SAID, "CHRIS WHAT IS WRONG?" AND SHE LOOKED AT ME AND SAID "THAT COST A LOT OF MONEY!!"  AT THAT TIME IT WAS, BUT THAT WAS WHAT WE WANTED TO BUY THEM. THEY LOVED IT.  LIKE THE IPODS TODAY!!

THIS I WILL NEVER FORGET. ONE DAY AFTER DEREK WAS BORN WE WERE AT DAVE AND KAY LOU'S AND SOMEONE WAS HOLDING DEREK AND AGAIN CHRIS WAS JUST LOOKING AND THINKING. OUT OF THE BLUE SHE SAID  "I CAN'T BELIEVE I COULD EVER LOVE SOMEONE THAT MUCH."  SHE LEARNED HOW PARENTS FEEL. IT IS TRULY A MIRACLE!!

WHEN CHRIS WAS SICK I TOLD HER SHE HAD TO GET BETTER CAUSE SHE HAD TO BE AT THE RIVER EVERY SATURDAY AROUND 2:00 HAVING LUNCH AT OUR PICNIC TABLE (USUALLY A SANDWICH OR HOAGIE).  THEN THE BOYS WERE READY TO SWIM.  THERE WILL ALWAYS BE A SEAT THERE WAITING FOR HER!!!  CHRIS WOULD BRING HER UNCLE GEORGE BROWNIES AND HE LOVED THEM.  CHRIS WAS A GREAT COOK.

ONE LAST THING.  WE HAD CHRISTMAS WITH THEM THIS YEAR AND WHEN SHE WAS SHOPPING ONE DAY SHE SAW SOMETHING AND SHE THOUGHT OF US.  IT WAS A  WOODEN SIGN THAT SAYS "A FISHERMAN LIVES HERE WITH THE BEST CATCH OF HIS LIFE." IT IS ON OUR BACK DOOR AND WHEN SUMMER COMES IT WILL BE ON THE CAMPER.  MARK SAID HE WANTED TO SEE IT THERE.  SHE WAS ALWAYS SO THOUGHTFUL.  WE WILL DEARLY MISS HER AND THE RIVER WILL NEVER BE THE SAME!

WE ENJOY WATCHING THE BOYS PLAY SPORTS AND WILL ATTEND THEM TILL WE GET TOO OLD TO TRAVEL!

I TOLD THE BOYS TO NEVER FORGET THEY HAVE AN AUNT PHYLLIS AND UNCLE GEORGE AND WE WILL DO WHAT WE CAN!

TIME WILL SOFTEN THE EDGES AND EASE YOUR BURDEN!

LOVE TO ALL-MARK, DEREK, DREW, DAVE, KAY LOU, JENN, CHAD, MADE' AND CAITLYN

LOVE        AUNT PHYLLIS AND UNCLE GEORGE     FEBRUARY 16, 2010