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.

 

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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.

Comments

[Dave Richards]

The 3 missing names are Ronnie Bogart (next to Mr. C), Donna Gordner next to Mike W. and Mark Force next to Tim Sones......What great memories Mel.....Honestly, I don't think I have any bad memories of Millville...Hopefully we can all get together this summer.....

Thanks for all your hard work to keep us posted. I wish I would've able to hlep contribute more....God bless you.

[Stephanie Carlson]

This site was the link I needed to help keep me in touch with what was going on with Chris. Thank you Melanie for your hard work. You put into words what I've been feeling lately as well. Rest in peace Chris.

[April D. Giron]

I am completely taken aback by this journey Chris and her close friends/family has taken over the last 6-8 months. I am overwhelmed, to say the least, with sadness when reading the postings on this site. I am lastly, amazed at the strength and courage Chris had throughout this journey. It says a lot about her character. I knew Chris throughout high school and she was consistently a loving, kind person. Some things just don't change. I do remember her posting in December 2009 how she always loved my dad's glazed donuts from the bakery....all warm and sweet. yummy. Kinda' wishing he still had that bakery for him to have delivered daily a fresh warm batch everyday until her hearts content.

She seemed to reap good things in her life, lead a very productive and healthy lifestyle, and returned as much love as was given to her by those she touched. That truly is a blessing and I know God is taking very good care of her rewarding her for all of her kindness here on earth.

I've already expressed my absolute amazement to Melanie for all of her endless dedication to Chris and her family. And I will say it again, Melanie may God bless you and be with you too as you go through some tough days. You are truly an example of what a good friend is and she was very lucky to have had you in her life.

Lastly, I pray, endlessly, for God to put his healing touch on Mark, the boys, her family, and friends.