"There is no death, daughter. People die only when we forget them,' my mother explained shortly before she left me. 'If you can remember me, I will be with you always."
-Isael Allende, Eva Luna
Wow.
I knew that the day would come, but I hoped we would both be older, you know, in our seventies and eighties when we were separated this way. I can't control these urges to cry and scream and lie down in my cave blanketed by darkness. Some days I wake up and ask myself, Is my mother really gone?
My mother.
My mom.
Mommy?
You can't answer me.
Cancer changed everything for us.
I hate cancer. I'm like Kevin Hart's uncle who wants to punch cancer in the face. I hate what it does to people, how it tears apart families and made you experience a pain you could not touch. Cancer took you from us, but the words of the doctor who took care of you but didn't care about you sealed your fate. If I could, I would drown him with all of our tears. HE shifted everything.
I remember taking this picture when we went to one of your chemo treatments. I remember the day like it was yesterday. You were so strong sitting under your quilt made by Ms. Miriam. You explained what was happening at each juncture and I sat in the chair next to you, watching everything. I made you coffee and I drank tea. For lunch we ate Subway sandwiches. You fell asleep in the chair and I sat in the car and took a nap. We were there for hours while the chemo entered your body through the IV. I read magazines and absorbed everything I could in those moments with you. You were the pink panther, the warrior facing your fears head on. I gathered strength from you as I always have.
Everyone in the chemo room seemed somber but the sign above the door was a declaration to all of us in that moment at the cancer center and all of us in this moment moving on without you:
NEVER. GIVE. UP.
The word "up" has so many meanings but in this case, to not give up means never let it be finished voluntarily. Keep fighting. That's a message for those of us you left behind, lessons that you kept inscribing into our hearts and in your journals for us:
Keep fighting. Keep learning.
Keep believing. Keep pushing.
Keep searching. Keep loving.
Keep praying. Keep walking.
The end can't be the end if you don't surrender to it.
"Never give up." I hear the message. I guess I won't give up when my grief isn't consistent and I get lost in this journey. I won't give up even though it is strange to be a motherless child. I won't give up when people won't let me live because they don't think I'm ready to move on without you Mom. The other day AJ said, "If anyone went to heaven I know Grandma went." She is an incredibly strong little girl, she doesn't like to see me cry so I let her console me in her own way. One day, her daughter is going to have to console her when I'm gone. I pray that I am as good to her as you were to me. "Never give up." Right?
"Never give up." This declaration can be applied to any area of our lives as Hortons and Pitts and your sisterfriends. I don't plan to give up building my legacy. Yours is still standing, many people are going to speak your name.
I'm working hard to live in this new reality, the other side of life without you. Here are some of my new intentional habits:
- Water. I already drink a lot of water, I'm logging it into my Fit Bit.
- Exercise. Well, I have an urge to run now and I used to hate running.
- Sleep. I go to bed early.
- Laughter. I am trying to laugh every day.
- Crying. When I need to cry, I cry.
- Hugs. I am trying to get 5 hugs a day.
- Dancing. We listen to music when AJ does her homework, we have dance breaks too.
- Writing. I'm trying to write through the pain.
- Gratitude. You kept a gratitude journal. I am being intentional about my gratitude.
- Breathing. I am breathing with my eyes closed more often. The intentional, slow and steady breaths that force me to slow down and feel what I really feel.
I call your name Marilyn Joy Pitts Horton, your legacy lives on.
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