Called Home

You.

And You.

And also You.

You are the chosen ones.

You are the ones called home.

Emily and I were diagnosed at almost the same time.  Different cancers – different treatments.  She seemed healthier – better chances.

How are these calls “home” made?  How are they fair?  I guess life is not about fair – whose game and what rules apply… mystery.  It is hard to have faith when life seems so unfair.  Our hearts ache.  Time has frozen.  The future becomes all about the past – remembering, rejoicing in what was, reflecting on how we made our marks.  How did we do?

This is not about me.  It is not about anyone other than “Emily”.  Yet, it all about me and it is about you. It is about all of us.  It is all about how we live, knowing how fragile life can be.  She reminds us to carry on.  She reminds us of those we cherish – to not take for granted – to breathe and to make each breathe conscious.  She reminds me to be grateful for today and to make it count.  We have a future.  We cannot live in the past.  Not yet.  There is too much to do.

We rejoice in birth.  We take our peace in knowing there is time – time for a new life to grow and age.  We summon the courage to support this birth and the wisdom to guide, to inspire, to know when it is time to support and to know when it is time to let go.  The skies are blue -the winds are gentle.  Our worlds are green and new.  There is hope and comfort in a future that is joyous.  There is laughter and celebration.  There is life.

We pause in death.  We reflect.  It is time – time to take stock of what was.  There is a strange sense of desperation.  It is the feeling that the doors are closing and we are on a dead-line to get our house in order.  Yet, there is nothing to do but wait.  We wait and we pray.  We pray for courage for the family.  We pray for courage for Emily.  We pray we have the courage to carry on ourselves knowing that this life has created a void.  Our lives will never be the same again.  A tradition is removed.  An absence created.

The winds are harsh – the skies are grey.  There is a storm brewing just under the calm surface – the mask which conceals the rage of injustice, fear, sadness.  We dare not express.  Not now.

Now – is about her.  It is about you.  It is about me.  It is about life – new beginnings somewhere else.  It is about another time.  Another beginning.  We wish we had a grasp of what that looks like.  She is on her journey home. She is not alone.  She takes a piece of all of us with her – and leaves a piece of her with all of us.

The moving finger writes and having writ moves on.  We make our chapters count.  We make them note-worthy.  We make them memorable.  The ink … indelible.  Never to fade – never lost.

 

 

 

 

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About inmycorner

This blog began as an opportunity to tell my Dad's stories. I sat with him and the computer and together we told stories. It was a wonderful way to get to know Dad. He was 9. He and Mom had a wonderful life together and since she passed away a year and a half before him - Dad was ready to join her. I no longer tell his stories but have found stories of my own. The impetus to resume this blog was the discovery that I had stage 4 ovarian cancer. Since blogging had been so therapeutic for my dad and I to get through our grief, I felt maybe this would be a good outlet to process my situation. I also hoped it may serve as an outreach to anyone else who is facing this very ominous journey. So far, so good.
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12 Responses to Called Home

  1. Beautifully stated. Poignant. Sad. And so true. We’re all moving along — far too fast! — trying to make and leave good memories. But finally it’s time to pack up and move on home. My sympathies to those who knew and loved Emily.

    • inmycorner says:

      It is sad. There is no way around that, Christine. Packing up is no easy task. Emily, according to a good friend of hers, is making the most of every last second she has. Inspirational.

  2. Tom Graves says:

    Father, under-gird and strengthen Stacy during this time. We pray for a miracle for Emily, a healing touch from Your hand, Grace and strength for her family, in Jesus’ Name

  3. Judy says:

    Beautifully written – as always, I felt chills. I know what you mean about blues skies and hopefulness vs. gray skies and fear.
    I am sorry for how hard it must be to say goodbye to Emily. Thinking of you and hoping you continue to feel well and enjoy your precious life. You continue to be my inspiration. It cannot be easy to see your friend suffer.

    • inmycorner says:

      No – it is not. Thanks, Judy. You – I do believe – understand. I have survivor’s guilt I think. It’s too close for comfort. I want to do more to help but feel paralyzed by fear. So – I wrote. Not much of an inspiration there… but thanks for your very kind and supportive words.

  4. This is emotionally beautiful Stacey. ❤

  5. karen markovic says:

    Meaningful and moving….too many tears I cry….the unfairness and injustice of so much….

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