Theresa

Running at night always offers mental clarity that just isn't there typically.  The day is almost over, my mind at rest without the never-ending daily list looming before me.  It is often a little retreat, churning details of life over and over until there is some resolution, some sense of peace.  The other night was a time that I needed one of these mind clearing, soul purifying runs.

I have been thinking of Theresa a lot lately.  It was almost dark, the winter sun still shedding a glow across the sky, the stars hiding behind a veil of faint light, the air icy, actually feeling like the winter we really haven't had this year.  The anniversary of Theresa passing away is upon us and it has been weighing on my heart.  While my feet were beat.beat.beating the ground all I could hear was her last breaths and remember how I wanted to run away.  Still, I want to scrub the memory of her labored breathing from my memories.
Yet, they remain.  All the the memories will linger, the good with the bad.

Theresa was always living for the moment, never giving too much thought to what was ahead.  As she went through treatment she held on to the hope for a miracle; we all did.  It was discouraged, albeit silently, to discuss the very real possibility of death.  We wanted to keep her spirits up, but ignoring reality didn't make it less real.  I wish desperately that I would have spoken of death.  To ignore the path she was traveling was essentially abandoning her as she walked it alone.  This is a mistake that I will never repeat with a loved one.  Not that we want to immerse ourselves talking about death, but to visit the topic occasionally would have been healthy.

We gathered as a family yesterday to remember Theresa.  Often I have felt guilty about not crying enough, not being absolutely grief-stricken....at least on the outside. But that is not how Theresa would have lived had it been one of us that died.  And, for me, from the time of her initial diagnosis til her death it was a gradual good-bye.  With each bad report my heart let go a little more.  Sitting on the edge of the treadmill in the quiet of the early morning the tears would fall.  But then the day would begin, and I'd move on.  There was breakfast to be made, clothes to be laundered, a family to care for.

And that is it still how it is is, there is still a household to maintain. My heart aches for my siblings that don't have a family to immerse themselves in.  How much more poignant their loss must feel.  Not that I bury my grief in my children, but I realize there is so much more to live for and so much more that needs to be done.

Theresa will always live in my heart.  If we truly believe our Faith, it is only a veil that separates us.  A thin veil.  Just like the lingering sunlight that hides the stars from our sight, she is near us, we just can't see her.